Apr 3, 2013 Original Poetry, Parenting/ Home-schooling / Family Music and other Notes
Catapult – A Poem
©By Vijaya Sundaram
I watch the sun’s beckoning fingers
Inviting my daughter and me to go out
And play. The lure is undeniable.
I resist, resolutely. I shall not go out.
No, I shall not. I want to be lumpen.
My plea? Too tired. Too worn out.
Not for me the beautiful sun
Nor for me the brisk air
Of near-Spring, teetering
At the edge of winter,
Still tilted in Winter’s wake.
I insist on staying indoors, always
The rebel against that which is good for me.
I used to be good, you know.
I was good. I looked good.
I was young and aware of it.
So, I carefully did these:
Walk, eat right, count my calories,
Be healthy, do lunges and stretches.
Now, un-Cinderella-like, with the years
Flown by, I find that I’ve turned
Into a pumpkin, and do not mind.
My daughter doesn’t mind that we are home.
She’s had her sun-stint earlier today,
With loving and dutiful Dad.
She played with Bella, a beautiful dog
She romped about
On wood-chips and grass,
Happy to be almost at Spring’s door.
I wasn’t there. I was told the bare
Details: Playground, dog, Bella, romping.
But I might have been there.
I saw them all, clearly.
For I hallucinate scenes
Clear as day, scenes which move
Like movies of yore, slow long
Camera angles and panning.
I see everything: My child,
Bella the dog, her fond owner,
My fond husband watching our daughter
Adore the dog, and the blue, blue sky above.
I hallucinate most things (but I know
It’s in my mind), because the stories
Always unfold thus, and all the colors are
Extra-saturated and brighter than real.
Now, as I watch, bemused, nonplussed,
My daughter prances about the house
Cat-faced, with a mask she made herself.
Cow-like, she moos, then cat-like, she slinks
Towards me, catapulting into my arms.
Stunned, I allow myself
To be borne away on the wave of her
Eight-year old magic.
Once, she asked me:
Would you love me if I were a boy?
I shall always love you.
Would you love me less if I were a teenager?
I shall always love you.
Can I stay with you and Dad forever?
I shall always love you.
I love you, Mom!
I shall always love you.
“I don’t want to grow up,” she states
Seriously, full of purpose and intent.
“I won’t! I want to stay a kid
Forever, and be free.”
Part of me agrees.
Another part says,
What of the you who’s waiting to be?
But for now, we stay far from the catapult
Which flings us into the distant future.
Time enough for growing up.
For right now, a child of eight
Claims my entire attention
And dances in the spotlight
Of my love for her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~The End~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tags: #Childhood, #Daughter, #Life, #Love, #Mask, #Mother and Daughter, #NaPoWriMo, catapult, dog interactions, future, Growing up, innocence, Play, Playground
Mar 20, 2013 Parenting/ Home-schooling / Family Music and other Notes
Playground Hour — A Poem
©By Vijaya Sundaram
March 20th, 2013
We were godlings for an hour.
Cold, cold air snapping at our ankles,
Obliging crunch of snow underfoot,
Nose smarting with arctic anticipation,
Ears aflame, feet double-socked, snow-boot shod,
Frame encased in layer upon layer
(A true New Englander now, twenty-four years gone),
I walked mitten-in-mitten with my girl
To the playground.
A pretty spaniel along the way,
Raced up and down her fence, ready to play,
A shy, timorous dog a little further on
Trembled and shook at our approach,
But suffered our soothing caresses,
Terrified of who-knew-what.
While his body was cradled by loving mistress
(“He’s always scared, we don’t know why,”
She explained, reassuringly.)
Perhaps, he sensed we were godlings.
On we went, my daughter and I
To the playground, where she and I
Were the sole owners of a blue-white space,
And the sun struggled in vain to light a void
At once dark-gray and summer blue,
A study in battling contradiction, with
Moon scudding past clouds on the left,
Sun sinking grandly on our right;
A sky-statement that promised warmth
But delivered empty light.
We godlings don’t mind.
We raced up and down the snow-crushed slides,
Fell backwards on crystallized snow,
Gazed up at the ringing sky,
Heard the heartbeat of the earth
For a few, still, silent moments
While six p.m. traffic, frantic and home-fixated,
Ebbed and flowed on a distant shore.
The earth hummed into our spines,
As the sky flowed away from our arms
Outstretched on the snow.
We were truly godlings, light-haloed.
Then, with sudden uprush of glee, we arose,
Startled the still air with our cries
And our crashing feet. Elemental,
We threw snowballs at each other.
Shrieks of joy from child,
Muttered imprecations from mother,
Fun on a swing, meeting the skies,
We played, snow-muted.
Then, alas! It was time to leave.
Our magic hour was up.
Time to resume human form.
Godlings have to deal with time, too.
“No! Let’s stay! Can’t we?” she said,
Sparking rebellious, but subsiding.
“I wish we lived here,” she sighed.
But, she came, obediently, hand in mine.
She knew we would play there again,
Perhaps tomorrow, perhaps all the days
Flowing through her childhood.
For she truly came from the Gods.
And I watch her grow, enchanted.
And so, homeward-bound, we tromped,
Watching the sky unfold
Into deepening layers of color.
And the distant Tower swam into view,
As we sloped, tilting earthward,
Down, down, down to where we lived,
Home, for dinner. How human!
But we were godlings for that hour.
And we shall be so, again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The End ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tags: #Childhood, #Mother and Daughter, #Original Poetry, Fun, Godlings, Play, Playground, Snow-games
Mar 10, 2013 Awake in Real Time: Coffee-induced Meditations and Journal Entries, Parenting/ Home-schooling / Family Music and other Notes
A Winter Walk in Sun and Snow
©By Vijaya Sundaram
Sunday, March 10th, 2013
Today, S and I went for an hour and a half walk through the woods near our house. It was a stunningly beautiful day — the sky was a freshly washed cerulean, and the white of the snow from the recent snowstorm overlay everything, fresh and soft, crunchy in parts, and pillowy in parts, always alluring, always leading us on to the next slope, the next outcropping of rock, the next tenderly nestled valley.
The woods near our house are almost improbable. On both sides, there are busy highways and roads, and all around, there are human dwellings. One does not expect to get lost in the woods. One does not expect to climb up snowy slopes, and look out on acres of trees, hills and valleys, little rivulets, streams and ponds. One does not expect such a dense quietude like the one we experienced, with the silence of sunlight pouring down on our upturned meditating faces, as we sat on a rock, tired from walking, catching our breath, holding hands, smiling into the empty sky.
Walk into these woods, and all that is human-made disappears. The trees and stumps look mysterious, inviting, the stuff of poems and dreams. Because it’s still winter, there are no animals to be seen, and no birds warbling in the trees to break the tightly-woven fabric of silence, which is punctuated only by the startling crunch of our shoes. There is an imperceptible hush of traffic in the distance, but it disappears like a sigh, once one is deep within the woods.
This afternoon, as we walked further and further in, S and I imagined that hidden in the broken stumps and hollow fallen trees might lurk small families of shy, nocturnal, scurrying creatures. No sign of ducks, squirrels, snakes or frogs yet — that might take another month or more. I haven’t seen foxes or coyotes here. And there are no bears in these woods — not yet, anyway!
She is only eight, this child of mine, and she is magical, filled with a deep, abiding love for the earth, its creatures, and for these special woods so close to home. We talked about how beautiful it was to sit on the rocks, to walk together, to see the untrodden snow. She wanted me to take the day off on this coming Tuesday, so we could go to the woods again together on my birthday. She was excited that my birthday was approaching. I realized that I should rein in my rather blasé attitude towards my “special day.” To her, it was an event of major import — the day I was born, lo! those many years ago! I tried to muster up some enthusiasm for it, and found it was easy. All it takes is the company of a loving child, and we are reborn from the ashes of our daily drudgery.
We strayed from the beaten path occasionally, and stayed on the trodden parts frequently (a lesson in there, somewhere? I think not! One must avoid reading too much into everything!). We held hands, and skipped over small streams, stopped to talk to a passing dog, whose owner smiled and allowed us to befriend his four-footed companion. We saw a solitary cross-country skier, walk towards us, thin and translucent in the light. “Hello!” we said to her, and she said, “Hello!” back. An occasional human in the woods is a cheering sight.
My child is a mountain-goat. I remember when she was barely twenty months old, she raced up the steep slopes of the very same woods, and I couldn’t stop her. She was sure-footed, and very interested in the steeper paths. Today, she laughed at my naked fear when she raced up steep slopes, and said, “Don’t be so scared, Mom! I wonder why grown-ups are always so nervous about everything!” I bristled in mock-indignation, and zigzagged up and down slopes from time to time (I was nervous that I might twist an ankle, and then be forced to hobble home), just to prove her wrong.
We walked for a long time, and in the end, we found ourselves at the very end of the trail, on the other side. We were jubilant! We’d never seen the other side before. We had strayed quite far. With unerring instinct, we found our way back to the main trail, and doggedly went on that, because now, we were feeling a little tired, happily so.
And one other thing. My feet squelched. The snow had been really deep in parts, and I was too busy enjoying it to care at the time. Now, it was all about “Ugh! I’ve got to get home now!” It wasn’t so bad, really, until we reached the main road, and went towards our house. Then, it got really uncomfortable.
We picked up trash along the way. My daughter started it, and I followed. She was indignant at the trash left near the side of the woods, along the road, and so was I. “Silly people!” she fumed. I agreed with her. We resolved that next time, we would take two large trash bags with us, and pick up trash on our way back. I thought, perhaps, we would even make a large sign and carry it! Perhaps, we could start a neighborhood trend. Nothing like a little positive action to breed more positive action (one hopes)!
We made it home, and I needed help from W to get my shoes off. I sat down on the mudroom bench. He pulled hard at my boot. I fell! (I’m afraid I wasn’t gracious there for a second. We shall gloss over the scene, shall we?) After recovering my poise and gravity, I thanked him. We laughed. There was a puddle of water and snow in both boots. Thank goodness for home!
S and I stood in the shower, aiming the shower nozzle that poured hot, hot water over our unsocked feet. What luxury!
Then, we had a lovely snack, some hot tea and plenty of downtime away from each other. This is the stuff of happy living.
When I reflect on my homecoming, I realize that it’s far harder to enjoy the woods and the cold, if one has no food or hot water, or love or kindness to come home to.
And when I think, “God! I’ve got to go back to work tomorrow!” I realize that that is the price I pay for this.
And I am truly grateful.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~The End~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tags: #Mother and Daughter, A Walk in the Snowy Woods, Gratitude, Green Earth, Silence and Sunlight