Meteor Shower

Come on, let's go look.
We ran-shuffled out into the driveway with shoes too big and flopping around our ankles. This was a hurried scheme and we did not stop for our own shoes.
Will they make noise? She asked.
No, you can't hear them.
It's dark, can we turn on the outside light?
No. We need the dark so we can see them more clearly.
She grabbed my hand a little tighter and held the crook of my elbow with the other hand. We tipped our faces toward the sky, standing in our too-big shoes, in the driveway, in the dark.
What are we looking for?
Falling stars, baby. Streaks of light in the sky.
She looked some more and shivered.
I'm cold and it's bed time.
The sky was covered with clouds, back lit by ambient light from the city; the clouds swirled a thick and brownish gray and covered our view. Fat drops began to fall and we flapped our shoes back inside, away from the rain.
I'm sorry you didn't see them, Mom. She hugged me and went to get her pajamas. Over her shoulder she called, I'm glad I didn't see them. I think they are too big. I don't like the idea of rocks falling through space.
Later, we lay in bed in the dark - the safe dark of inside and in bed with thick blankets and a mom and a brother all snuggled tightly and warm. I thought she was asleep. Instead,
What will they hit, Mom?
Nothing, baby. They are millions of miles away, just falling through the sky.
Oh. I was afraid they would hit us and make craters.
Not tonight, baby. 
Well that's better. I'm sorry you didn't see them.
It's OK. Even though I didn't see them, they're still there. That's enough.
Breathing slowed, and she disappeared behind her eyelids, millions of miles away, just falling through the sky.

Mugs and Arms

Well, darlings, it's been a week.
I was all set to start blogging again and then Congress happened and a minor cold and a few other things and now it's been a week.

Here's what's up.

I've got the most fantastic mug sitting next to me right now. Check it out.

Also check out the awesome shade of turquoise
I painted my family room over the summer.

A friend of mine gave it to me last week when I was rooting through her cupboards. She was trying to unload her mom's fine china on me, but I declined. You may recall, however, that I have a thing for mugs. So my friend gave me three mugs that her friend, a potter (sadly, not a Harry Potter, although he may be a hairy potter. I've never actually met him.) made and gave them. "We never, ever use them and they take up so much space." Done deal, my friend. No mug takes up too much space in my book. So I have this hearty, happy, lovely thing from which to drink my coffee every morning. The Chief Lou has one, too, and we have a spare in case someone wants to share the joy when they are here. Things like this make me incredibly happy.

On Tuesday, my whole world shifted under my feet and I lost my balance a little bit. I've been staggering around trying to find my footing. But the most amazing thing has happened. Whenever I feel like I might just tip into howling oblivion, there are arms there to catch me. Did you ever play that trust-building game where you cross your arms and close your eyes and just fall, trusting that your teammate or co-worker will catch you before you hit the ground? It's awful and exhilarating at the same time. There's that awful moment where you think, "This is it. This is the way it all ends. I will dash my brains out on the concrete of my office parking lot," and then there it is - arms in the darkness that grab you in whatever ways they know how and lower you, laughing and panting to the ground. So maybe your co-worker stuck their hand in your armpit and pulled your hair a little bit, they came through and kept you from smashing your face on the pavement.

So it has been this week. It has been awful and exhilarating. Sometimes it feels like my eyes are closed and I'm hurtling through space and then the phone rings, I get a text, an email, a coffee mug, a hug. I find I am surrounded by people whom I have slowly, over the last year, allowed myself to trust and I am overwhelmed. These arms that reach out and catch me, set me up and point me back in the right direction. They are arms that I haven't expected, haven't asked for, haven't demanded. They are the arms of people who simply love me and mine and they have shown up just in time. So now, instead of closing my eyes and crashing around, I am intentionally closing my eyes and falling to my knees with prayers of gratitude.

And I have this mug. It is beautiful and sturdy; it is substantial and useful; it is unique and personal; it was a gift given freely out of love. We have mugs enough for us and some to share. It will never take up too much space. It makes me incredibly happy. It reminds me that we're surrounded by sudden arms in the darkness and that we will be OK.