It's such a simple thing, really. The hanging of laundry on the line. Perhaps it is the early morning light. Perhaps it is the dew clinging to the blades of grass. Perhaps it is the fresh smell of clean cloth and the cool dampness brushing along my cheek as I reach up to clip another piece to the rope. Maybe it's the squeak of the pulley as I make space for another article. I don't know. I don't get to do this very often anymore. There is no clothes line at my apartment. There is no quiet back yard.

In my previous life, I had a house with a garden and a clothesline. I hung clothing every morning before daycare, before getting breakfast ready for the kids, before waking up my own. And after the laundry was hung, I would sit out on the porch sipping my coffee and just watch nature wake up, with Abby, my son's yellow lab mix, sitting at my feet.I miss that. Today, I really really miss that.

I am house/dog sitting this week. My parents have flown out to Oregon for my cousin's wedding. I couldn't afford to take my kids so we opted to stay behind. We are staying in their house, with their garden, with their dogs. Similar to the old chapter in many ways.It brings back the memories as if it were yesterday.

Bend down, lift another damp shirt, reach up, clip to rope. Simple mundane routine. The dogs run about the back yard. The sun has just come up over the trees. Fresh coffee in my mug. Sitting on the step, watching butterflies waking up. THIS is peaceful.

Sometimes, I'm not aware of what I miss, until I am reminded.

The weekend is over. Graduation. The first of, perhaps, many such joint events. My ex and I had a civil conversation about our kids. Not his other one, just ours together. We were both careful. It was like talking over shattered glass. We tiptoed. He thanked me for raising her so well. He was so proud to see her wear the gold cords of the high honor student. I did not know what to say. She is her own smartness.

My ex's daughter took a shine to me. Wanted me to pick her up, wanted to sit on my lap..when she got tired she climbed up between me and my son, her half brother. She pulled my skirt over her like a blanket and snuggled in.
I can't even begin to describe what I was feeling. It is not the child's fault. I have not even acknowledged her this past year and a half. I haven't even called her by name. My two that are still living with me can have her picture in their room, but no where else in my home. They don't talk about her around me per my request.

And poof..there is this toddler doing what toddlers do naturally. It was surreal. It's not her fault, but it is very very hard for me to separate her from her conception. There is a lot of pain surrounding this that she has no clue of. No concern. She just wants to wander around happily, being picked up.

I feel her mother's eyes on me. I won't look at the mother directly. I will not make eye contact. So many ill feelings in that direction. I am trying hard to be polite. She probably wonders what I'll do with her daughter. She is probably watching for the reaction. I am a master of the mask. I am unreadable. I put on the smile, I hold the girl when she asks. I treat her like any other child that has gone through my daycare. And I try like hell to disassociate the fact that she and my youngest were conceived in the same bed. For a few hours it works. Today...today...I don't know how I feel.

She gave me a hug. this little innocent child, squeezed me tight. Pointed to me and said "pretty". I have been on the edge of tears, but not quite. My heart is jumpy but not quite. It is all so strange and this graduation is so very much unlike the image I held in my mind when my daughter was born. I don't know how I feel and I don't know why.
And this was just the first. Please tell me this gets easier...

daughter graduates tomorrow. Proud.
seeing ex tomorrow. Uncomfortable.
ex bringing fiance and new baby. Nausea.
but...
daughter graduates tomorrow.
watch the awesome ability of a narrowed focus.
sharp and crisp.
as for the rest,
I can pack Saltines.

Don't love change too much, when it occurs it usually makes the Richter Scale. I expected much higher than 40%. Goes to show I suppose that major upheaval outside does not necessarily equate to major upheaval inside.

crunchy dawn
breath framed sunrise
pretty but chilly
much like daughter of late

transient shadowing
of orbital path
Spring around the corner

Dangling sneakers in river water, derriere firmly submerged in cold water, hands paddling along over edges of bright yellow blown up tube. Head tipped way back, warm sun bathing skin that is drying after the last tumble down the rapids. Tiny arm hairs raise up one by one. I felt them all. Eyes shielded from bright sun, the shadow of a hawk swoops overhead. Splashes, squeals and laughter from nearby teenagers.

Two hours on a tube floating down the river. Relaxing between thrilling jolts.

I could have done this all day. This is true.

He does not know this, but when he reached out and stroked my hair affectionately in the morning hours as I sat on the cold hard floor among piles of almoststrangers' belongings in an echoey room wondering why the heck I was there all those months ago, it was exactly what I needed.

I have finished reading one of three books sent to me, "Things Fall Apart" by Chinua Achebe. It is the African equivalent to the Greek tragedy. This is what it says on the back cover. The back cover was not merely dressing things up to make one buy the book.

"Things Fall Apart" is about change. It is about things lost. It is about things found that were not seen as found. It is about a man who determined to change as a youth and became resistent to change as an adult. It is about old clashing with new.

It is about differences. This is not black and white. There is an aura of inevitability shadowing the pages. It made me shake my head and sigh.

"He has put a knife on the things that held us together and we have fallen apart"

Holy light of dawn,
Soft clicking dangling icicles
freshly formed,
One thousand sparkles
clamoring for awareness