This weekend we attended a lovely, funny and moving Passover Seder, held under a tent in our friends’ backyard. (We were part of the “mixed multitudes” since we are not Jewish.) My philosophy in life is that when you’re invited to cool things like that, you should always go (even though the very dominant introvert in me often tries to wiggle out of it).
Anyway, sitting under the tent last night I thought of all the other occasions we gather like this — weddings and graduations, memorial services and family reunions — and about the stories and histories that go along with those events. How delicious is ritual. How comforting and beautiful and right.
Twinkle lights, a tent
Tell me this ancient story
and it will feel new
Speaking of ritual, this ends yet another year of haiku-every-day in April. Thank you for reading and writing with me. It’s been such a satisfying practice. Much love… xxoxo
We are surrounded these days by kids grappling with monumental choices and making big decisions — about colleges and careers and first love affairs and, well, life. I’m just wowed at the grace under fire I’m witnessing all the time, from people less than half my age.
But here’s what else has been eye-opening (and don’t tell the teens because it would be overwhelming) — in so many ways I still feel like I’m that same person in that same place, with an array of big, important choices in front of me every day. Choices that will help determine who I will become and what my life will be like. Well, ok. The rest of my life.
What if I turn here?
How will I know if it’s right?
So many choices.
Reminded me of this:
And I wrote this:
is showing off everything
like Marilyn’s skirt
In central Texas, we find ourselves out of a drought for the first time in a decade. Everything is lush and green and alive, and I’m feeling grateful.
Every leaf is green
Every water molecule
Who needs red or blue?
Bats, some people think, are kind of creepy. Little squeaky mice with wings webbed like duck feet.
Maybe rabid. Maybe related to vampires. Most certainly unwelcome if swooping through your bedroom late at night.
But in reality? THEY ARE COOL.
And in Austin, where I live, they are an institution.
A million and a half of them — all babies and mamas — spend 6 months under the Congress Avenue bridge, fly out in dark, pretty, undulating waves every night, hungry for insects. Which is good news for those of us with sweet blood. It’s like the opposite of being bit by a vampire, really.
Bats. They get a bad rap.
Hundreds of people
A million and a half bats
Gather on one bridge