carving

My friend Marie, who knows about these things, gave me a quote when I was first diagnosed with breast cancer. It was this:

“The further that sorrow carves into our beings, the more joy we can contain.”

I have been offered many quotes over the years–some of which have resonated with me greatly. Some of which I tossed out as not really being “me.” This one was different. I could neither embrace it right away, nor reject it. It jarred me at first. I didn’t have any interest in being carved. Nor could I see much joy around the corner. I wanted it to be true. But I was dubious.

Even so, I couldn’t deny the truth of being carved. Sorrow has carved me. It has left marks on me that feel visible, even if they aren’t. It has left me changed. And my family too.

This quote has also stuck with me because I have a visual reminder of it every time I walk up to our house. My Uncle Duane, three years ago now, carved a gorgeous cart for me that stands on our front porch right beside the door. During the winter I decorate it with a Christmas tree. In the summer; bird-ish things and plants. But the cart itself is decoration enough. It is intricately carved. Horses. “Morgan Mare, Way Cool” emblazoned above them. Quotes from people I love. Famous quotes. Rosettes. Vines. It really is something.

My uncle made it on his farm in Minnesota while I struggled through chemotherapy in Michigan. He carved. While I was being carved.

And, of course, all of us are carved. All of us have those hurts that dig so deeply into us we know the scars will linger. Often it seems even hard to hope that what feel like jagged scratchings might someday turn into a vine. A rose. A mare.

But what I’ve found so breath-taking over time is the truth of the quote Marie gave me. That really, joy has come to fill the grooves. Simple things turn over-joyful.

cartgirls on cart

Yesterday I got a call from the oncologist. My bone scan that was done on Saturday because of my persistent back pain came back normal. Normal. Would it feel so joyful had the words “cancer”, “metastatic” and “nodules” not carved so deeply? I wonder.

my mother

Mom

“My mother is full of joy and life.
I am her child.
And that is better than being the child of anyone else in the world.”
Maya Angelou

I found this quote a few years ago and have yet to find another that better says how I feel about being my mother’s kid.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.

the land of enchantment

On Tuesday, I returned from the trip of a lifetime. Last week Thursday night I landed in Los Alamos, NM. There, I met up with some dear friends—even spent time with a favorite former student. It was good to be there. To see some old haunts; to recognize Kris and my duplex that was barely spared in the enormous fire of 7 years ago; to laugh with Karen, Diane, Chris, and Nancy; to meet Daniel and Brandy’s children; to see Gregg play with his band; to be charmed again by Kris and her sweet 1 year old daughter; to get to know Alison’s new husband Dave; and to get reacquainted with Jordan with whom I haven’t spent meaningful time since she was 2. (She is now a willowy and lovely 14.)

On Saturday, my sister joined me in Santa Fe. We spent our days thrifting, hunting for cheap turquoise, and eating chili (green, not red–I never even worked up to red when I lived there!). On Sunday night we spent a delicious hour in the Ichiban at 10,000 Waves, a Japanese spa nestled into the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. It had been my excuse for a return to Santa Fe and it did not disappoint.

In all, it was five days of bliss. Thanks, Mark, for taking great care of Zoe in my absence (a photo gallery of the ballet performance I missed will be forthcoming). And Jim, thank you too. That sister time was just what I needed!

hotel courtyardthree of usmountain view

churchbeckipublic library 10000 waves

chilijordan and meshopping

breakfastSaturday nightbecki at 10000

NM friendsKris and Leesie 2lovely Kris

alison-and-dave.jpgfunky chairLA sign