Monday in June.

Rainy June morning, after all that sunshine.  It provides a quiet space and moment.  Here we are-- Off the sidewalks, out of the sun, inside making lists.  Organizing work.  Did I clean my brushes from the other day?  Some old bank statement under little torn off bits of sponge.  And scraps of tissue paper kept from Violet's birthday that I thought were sweet and might use again for something.
A bottle cap, a spoon, a dried up tea bag in a cup.
Pencil shavings; sketches waiting to be hole-punched.
This is my desk.
Hello Monday.  Tired, aren't we.
Rub your eyes, this week is on and you are still in slipper feet.

Ceremonies

Ceremony season has nested fully in our home, with cakes and velvet regalia; flowers, balloon animals, champagne, family filtering through in soft-leathered shoes, and phone calls from those who are far away.

Yesterday was Tyler's commencement; He was hooded for his doctoral degree.  It was one of those rare exquisite moments that for years to come will be displayed in my mind as little snap shots--  His royal purple gown, and puff-pie pillow hat-- very medieval looking-- and his official hooding, with all his future colleagues cheering on.  Violet on her chair, starfish hands waving for her dad who began this whole endeavor before she was even alive.  

There is something special about these moments where we sit and gaze so intently at the life and achievements of someone close to us.   I remember as a kid watching my dad give talks.  All of these eyes focused on him, and the applause that would come at the beginning-- even before he had said anything-- it always made me realize (even if just for that moment) that my dad was in and of the world.  And it was no different with my mom.  She ran a toy shop, and I would sit and watch her running the counter, handling money, chatting up the customers, winning smiles and hearts.  So in charge.  

I think as adults we don't do this intense gazing enough.  But these ceremonies take us back to that spot, watching from the bleachers, as those who are closest to us achieve a formal place in the world of doers of great things.  

_____

As an interesting epilogue to yesterday's festivities, today Violet had her first ballet recital.  All done up in stars and tights and nerves, I left her with her dance-mates back stage.  It was a very strange feeling to just leave her there, and then sit and wait in the audience for the show to begin.  She kept saying to me this morning "yesterday we cheered for my daddy who was on stage, and today you guys will cheer for me"-- this little mantra going through her head, I could tell, up until the very end.  

Really remarkably strange-- sitting and watching my kid from afar.  Really watching her with that same intense graduation gaze.  As much as we're focused on our kids, I think (at least personally) it must be very rare that I actually take the time to silently just watch her like that, as her own little person with goals and hopes and dreams.  

I expected her to be fearful and miserable up there...  but she was beaming.  Costumes and dancing, friends, music, applause.  It was overdone and silly, and she was absolutely in heaven.  And then the best part: her glowing self pride at the end of it all.  Like she had done exactly what she had always wanted to do.
Goodness, I love my family.  And phew, I'm happy it's summer.  Time for a little rest and woods, maybe?