Cicada's Sigh

When the heat of August
is swept away
with welcome gusts of warm wisdom

From the tops of plush trees
a breath of breeze
eases the noisy momentum

Buzzing cacophony
calmed by love's honey
each union fulfilling their dreams

Couples leaving their mark
quieting the dark
completing the circle of schemes

Near silent September
a last burning ember
soft echoes, it echoes its plea:

"Have you all gone? I long for your song."

Oh, surely this is not a surly hiss.
Is this not a swirly kiss?
A beguiling tone, a lovelorn sigh
a solo desiring duet
luring some humming coquette?

"Alone I sway. Will no one stay?
Oh, hear my plea:
Meet me, meet me . . . in the Sycamore tree
before the turn of the maple leaves

Please . . . Please . . . Please"

The cicadas and I are approaching the end. They’re thinning out and that usually puts me in a state of mourning. School starts in four days. I’m feeling the impending loss of free time and sleep. I’m going to miss waking when the rest of the world stirs me. Now I’m stirred by another layer of sadness. In my last full week of freedom, I’ve taken on the care of family when I’d really like to write and dance and complete my own summer schemes. But I don’t think it’s just the loss of my free time that’s making me teary. Some other kind of sense of loss is lurking.

When I get in that state of self-pitying martyrdom, I take contrary action and write a list of all I’m grateful for. I realized my gratitude comes from things I did for others. Laurence Leamer, from King of the Night said, “The difference between a helping hand and an outstretched palm is a twist of the wrist.”

Here is a list of my twisty wrist gifts:

Before I left on vacation, my daughter called and asked, “Do you like living alone?”

I was so caught up in describing the loveliness of my solitude and serenity that I didn’t see it coming. You probably did, right?

I naively asked, “Why?”

She answered, “Never mind.”

Oh. I got it. I never in a million years thought she’d consider moving back in with me. We both worried what it would do to our relationship. Casey’s been here for nearly a month, and maybe it’s the honeymoon period, but I actually look forward to her appearances. I’m getting to know her as an adult and I’m so impressed by her maturity. We laugh and encourage and cook. Our relationship is developing into a friendship of equals. I’m falling in love with her all over again.

After my sister’s knee replacement, I drove down to her place four hours away to help her set up her classroom and get organized at home. It felt like a lot to give up those days of my shrinking summer, but once I decided to enjoy it, time flew. We were so efficient in her classroom. We got to spend time alone together, something we rarely fit in when she’s up here visiting family. We sang, cooked, ate and walked. Those are some of my best things and I got to do them in the company of my sister!

I took care of my daughter’s pup and his bud for several days. It definitely put a cramp in my freedom and plans, but they have brought me so much joy. Cooper is just about the cutest thing that ever stormed the dog beach. He’s attached to me which is so endearing. I gave up what I’d like to do to take him to the dog beach every afternoon. But my afternoons were filled with laughs and sun and water and conversation. Yeah, my car is filled with sand, but there is no joy so simple as dogs bounding over waves. I’m so happy for him when I see him blissfully being chased by three other dogs. If you’re ever depressed, go hang out at a dog beach.

I volunteered to bring my adult, mentally challenged niece to my home for two days. It meant driving out to the suburbs and giving up some longed for solitude, but with Lisa came some very rich blessings. I love Lisa’s curiosity and desire for connections with people and animals. She can make six phone calls in a day, asking friends and family about their lives. She walks up to complete strangers and asks them about their baby, or their pregnancy, or the name of their dog. She gives compliments to passersby. “I like your shirt.” Lisa introduced me to my own next door neighbor. She asks neighbors and visitors if they have brothers and sisters, how old they are, if they’re married, if they go to school, what they’re studying. I can’t tell you how many first dates I’ve been on where the man couldn’t seem to come up with one question about me. Even when directed to ask about me, they cop out with, “Uh, I don’t know. What do you want to tell me about yourself?” Lisa asks me in the morning how I slept. She asks me if I’m tired. She asks me if I’ve ever had the same experience she’s had. She asks me what I like, what I don’t like, and if I’m going to get my haircut soon. With Lisa I feel part of the conversation, part of the relationship. I feel connected and valued.

Back to the suburbs for a swap: I dropped Lisa off and picked up my dad for his three day visit. It gave him a bit of variety since his daily highlights at home are Judge Judy and Dr. Phil. It also gave my mom a break from caring for him, a difficult enough task for a healthy person, let alone someone who struggles with her own self-care. Going places was an ordeal because he’s so weak and tottery, but he walked more in three days than he’s done in months at home. He seemed driven by the challenge. I, on the other hand, was confounded by my own challenges. My gratitude was as thin as his old skin. I was amazed and disturbed by my dad’s preoccupation with candy bars, ice cream and pop. When I suggested that he only needed one candy bar a day, he snapped, “How do you know what I need?” After an argument, a Hershey Bar represented lunch. Luckily I packed a sandwich for our trip to the dog beach, because as soon as he got in the car he said, “I don’t think I had lunch today.”

Later we strolled and rolled in a wheel chair to Lincoln Square for the Thursday night concert. As soon as we got settled he said, “Why don’t you see if you can get some popcorn and pop.” I told him we’d get some when we got home. He then turned to the man next to him and asked, “Is there any place to get some ice cream around here?” Irritated, I explained that I didn’t have money with me and we had plenty of ice cream at home. Now don’t think I deprived an old guy of his pleasures. He was able to turn his focus on the music and we both got a big kick out of watching the kids dance and run. When we got home he ate all the garbage he wanted. After he got ready for bed and I reminded him to brush his teeth, he emerged from the bathroom and asked, “Got any more of that root beer?” Something shifted in me, and instead of being bothered, all I could do was laugh uncontrollably. All his previous junk food obsessions flooded me and added momentum to my private cacophony. He said he didn’t think it was funny. I tried to explain but he let it go and said good night.

The additional challenge of seeing the downfall of my dad, once such a big man in my eyes, now so small and frail, had set that sigh of sadness over me. His bicycle is replaced by a wheel chair. He is now lost in a city in which he once prided himself on being able to navigate and identify landmarks. “Is this Chicago, he asked on our way back from the beach. Once so quick witted and curious, he now forgets where the front door is or who my brothers’ wives and kids are. “Who’s Kate now?” he stops on his way toward her car, moments after seeing her.

But that shift into laughter helped me find resilient gratitude. I began thinking of all the gifts he’s given me, humor being the greatest gift of all. I think it’s a talent really, a way to connect to the world, or a skill to fall back on in the face of fear and uncertainty. He still has it. At a restaurant he ordered coffee and told the waitress, “…and make it snappy!” He laughed when she served the coffee and told him, “Now drink it up and get out of here.” My dad has given me the gift of music, an appreciation we shared on our visit, listening to and singing along with Ella Fitzgerald and Nat King Cole. He has been a model of determination when the chips are down, a quality now reserved mainly for junk food. I look forward to hearing stories from his past. I may hear the same story three times in a half hour, but I take them as gifts that I can hold and pass on to others.

How funny to see a week that starts out in self-pity end up with gratitude. I’m so rich to be able to reach out a hand and feel the gift in my own palm.

Greedy with my time, greedy with my food, I want the benefits of my hard work to last. But when I share my food with others, I not only get their company and my good food, I also get their praises.

Here’s a treat I don’t mind sharing and it’s guaranteed to bring praises. As my dad used to say, “It’s a good source of sugar and fat.”

The Best Carrot Cake in the World

2c. sifted flour

2 t. baking powder

1 ½ t. baking soda

2 t. cinnamon

2 c. sugar

1 ½ c. vegetable oil

4 eggs

2 c. grated carrots

8 ½ ounce can crushed pineapple in unsweetened juice really well drained. I like to save a bit of juice for the frosting. It’s a nice touch.

Two hands full of chopped walnuts

Combine wet ingredients. Sift dry ingredients and add to wet. Pour into 9” by 12” oiled and floured pan or three 8” round pans. I like it best in the one rectangular pan. It stays moister. Bake at 350 degrees for 40 to 45 minutes, or until it stands the fork test. Top with cream cheese frosting when it cools enough.

Cream Cheese Frosting

½ c. butter softened

8 ounce package of low fat cream cheese (Don’t use fat free; it’s a disaster.)

2t. vanilla

2t. drained pineapple juice

Powdered sugar—about ½ of a one pound bag. Sift in bit by bit and taste as you go.

This recipe is better than any I’ve had at any bakery. Everyone is sure to moan with pleasure which will truly be a gift in your own palm. No need to serve this cake with ice cream. Try telling that to my dad.