Wednesday was
A very not special day
But I did get out of bed
Before noon

(Ah, the luxury of retirement where 9:00 counts as early, 10:00 as usual, 11:00 as sometimes – and then there are the days when the morning passes with me still abed. Like a poet in some Victorian romance. I read, I write, I play logic games on the computer, I pray, I listen to podcasts and watch YouTube videos about whatever has most recently caught my attention. Ah, retirement)

So there I was
Awake and dressed
Bed made
Before noon

I finished loading the dishwasher
And turned it on
I washed some pots and plastic ware
My hands luxuriating in the warm soapy water
While I gazed out the kitchen window
On daffodils and Lenten roses
Carolina jasmine
And buds just visible
On our newest Japanese maple

I ran some errands
I organized some paperwork
Woody and I watched 
An episode of Vera
I joined two friends for dinner
Two good friends
One is 30-something
One is 50-something
I am 70-more-than-something

Our dinner stretched
Stretched like our friendship
Strong and elastic
And oh so comfortable

Perhaps we three are
Maiden
Mother
Crone
Perhaps we are, each one, all three
Perhaps we are just good friends

Then I came home
At midnight
To Woody and bed

It was good to be alive 
on such an ordinary
extraordinay day

Sometimes
Not often but sometimes
I feel each breath
As creation

One day
Perhaps not very distant now
I will breathe in
And not breathe out again

Or perhaps I will breathe out
And then not in again

And some part of this created me
Will die
Some part of this once me
Will no longer be me

Some parts may
Become
A fuzzy dandelion
With once me nodding in the grass
Or a fat worm
Taking once me into the dark rich earth
Or a speck of cosmic dust
Swirling what was once me through the infinite universe

I trust that I
Will always
Be created and recreated
In divine love

I am maiden
She who will become

I am mother
She who has borne

I am crone
She who loves
And is loved.

If the first 
Shall be last
And the last, first

Then let me drown out
The world’s noise 
With my silence

Let me answer
The world’s questions
With my ignorance

Let me seek
The divine
In the mundane

Let me share 
Generously
From my poverty

Let me believe
A crucified criminal
Is God’s anointed

Let me pour new wine
Into old wine skins
And rejoice at the bursting

If the first
Shall be last
And the last, first

Then let this imagined me die
That the unimaginable true I 
May live eternally and divinely

With You
My Love

I spent most of 1973 as a pregnant hippie
So of course I learned LaMaze breathing
With my partner
That was the first time I became aware
Or at least the first time I knew myself to be aware
Of the power of breath

DUH! Breath keeps us alive
Without breath we are dead
Dead as a doornail
(Is that the right expression – it sounds so odd)
How much more powerful can breath be
Than keeping us alive?

Ah, I sigh
My nose inhales
(though my nose is filled with COVID germs)
to a strong quickstep 1, 2, 3, 4
Then stillness 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6
As my breath pauses
Six nanoseconds of balance
My exhale is a long gliding waltz
1..2..3..4..5..6..7..8
Through pursued lips

A little bit of LaMaze
A little bit of pranayama
A little bit of centering prayer
A little bit of mind-body-spirit connection

I inhale 75 years
I pause here
Before I slowly exhale compassion

And,
When I am very lucky,
Words

I feel the need to move quietly
speak softly
whisper prayers
tip toe in the garden

lest I startle
peeking spring
back under her covers

Five minutes to midnight
Five minutes to tomorrow
Five minutes to Tuesday
Five minutes to February 7, 2023
Five minutes –
Three minutes now –
To the day Mom leaves our home
And enters assisted living

Busy day today
Beginning with early morning yoga
Ending, a few minutes ago,
With vacuuming the downstairs

My corned beef and cabbage
Was a big success
Luckily I made plenty
Because I forgot
That I had told Andi to come
For dinner

Mom was anxious all day
Worried about everything
From needing new shoes
To where she would put 
Her toothbrush

I worried too
Will she adjust
Will she make friends
Am I being selfish

Now
Now that
I have written my way
Into tomorrow 

I will be still
And know
That God
Chuckles
Lovingly
At worries
About toothbrushes 
And selfishness

Saturday
The first day of my virtual
Online zoomed
Oh so very post-pandemic
Centering prayer retreat
Was interrupted for me
From noon to five
When I played bridge
With my mother
And two friends
Our weekly gift
To a 98 year old
Who is still as keen
If not still quite as sharp

Bridge and wine
Beef stew and a thanksgiving prayer
Family and friends
And many repeated words
For Mom
Whose hearing aids
-	She often calls them ear plugs
Never seem to work quite good enough

Goodbyes and hugs
Dishwasher loaded
Hands in soapy water
With pots and pans
And Mom’s silver gravy spoon

Outside the kitchen window
Though it is dark now
I see our trellis 
Beautifully burdened with Carolina jasmine
Our towering, shaggy spruce
Behind our newly planted Japanese maple
And the faint glow from Mom’s
Blessed Virgin Mary statue 
-	Survivor of Hurricane Katrina
Snuggled into our garden 
Between the shed and trellis
In front of the azalea
That will bloom astonishing deep red
For crown and cloak
Come spring

Did I really miss
Centering prayer
Or did I simply live it?