Another Day at the Beach

Summer has returned to the Jersey Shore, and I am happy to sit at my desk, look out the window and watch people walk to the beach with chairs, carts, umbrellas, coolers and toys. This season will be over before I know it, and I am glad for a season in which things don’t seem to change or don’t seem to change too much despite all the new construction going on across the way. It’s the time of year to sit on the porch with a glass of wine and gossip with the neighbors. I feel very lucky.

It's been a month of good luck for me, and I do not take that for granted. Earlier this week I was invited to read my poems at a gallery in northwest New Jersey. My expectations about attendance were very low. Instead, a bunch of people showed up to listen. I had not done a reading in quite a while, and I was delighted.

The day before the reading I had returned from a writing retreat in the Pacific Northwest. After participating in the 30/30 program for Tupelo Press, (i.e., write 30 poems in 30 days. You try it. Whew.) I was invited to Gentle House, a facility owned by Tupelo, in Port Angeles Washington. Port Angeles is on the Olympic Peninsula, the northwestern most part of the United States. It’s gorgeous! I spent the mornings writing and then explored the various natural surroundings. On my last day there I took a hike in the Hoh Rainforest. I am basically a city person. I’ve never seen anything like the rainforest–giant trees and ferns, moss and more moss. Oh, I will refrain from going on and on

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But I do want to talk about awe for a minute. I spent the early part of my trip in Oregon driving along the Columbia River, then I headed north. Each tree, each waterfall, each mountain, each flower, each lake situated me in relation to our planet in a new way. I felt small, and I felt humble, but also incredibly grateful just to be with the trees and flowers, moss and ferns, rocks and ocean, grateful that they exist, that I could experience being with them. Maybe this all sounds silly or naïve, but it felt wonderful. I felt terrific and decided it is better to be in wonder than in worry. Worry is different from action. Worry does not change or heal anything. In wonder we see the world with new eyes.

Then I flew home to New Jersey. But I have managed to retain a bit of this sense of wonder. I remind myself to focus my attention on small things. The tiger lilies are beginning to bloom. Local strawberries are ripe. The hydrangea is filled with flowers. I do not need to scare myself reading news articles or social media. They are designed to capture my attention through fear. My time is better spent writing letters to voters or planting lettuce seeds for a fall harvest or reading a book. Our time here is terribly short.

Tomorrow is Father’s Day. I miss my dad and my husband. They have been gone a long time, but I think about them both every day. We are at the age when our fathers are only memories. If you are looking for a poem about fathers and memory, my favorite is “Haley’s Comet” by Stanley Kunitz. I weep each time I read it.

As I said, lately I’ve been feeling lucky. I am lucky that so many of my memories are good ones. I am lucky to be writing to you. It’s all I can ask for.