Court Date Countdown: One

I couldn't come up with an appropriate picture to depict this milestone. We don't do much in singular fashion around here, and the things that come to mind when I think of the number one today are things that cannot be photographed.


One dream

One wish

One hope

One prayer

One family

One day


I am surprisingly calm but completely at a loss for words, so here is one last poem. It is my favorite.


The Measure
Mary Oliver

I stopped the car and ran back and across the road
and picked up the box turtle, who only
hissed and withdrew herself into her pretty shell.
Well, goodness, it was early in the morning, not too much traffic.
Rather an adventure than a risk, and anyway
who wouldn't give aid to such a shy citizen?
Who wouldn't complete the journey for it, taking it of course
in the direction of its desire: a pinewoods
where, as I learned, the blueberries ripen early.
Probably she had thought, in the middle of the night - Ah, it's time.
Sometimes I think our own lives are watched over like that.
Out of the mystery of the hours and the days
something says - Let's give this one a little trial.
Let's, say, put a turtle in the road she's traveling on, and in a hurry.
Let's see how her life is measuring up, that lucky girl.
So much happiness, so much good fortune. Ah, it's time.

Court Date Countdown: Three (Holy Cow!)

when faces called flowers float out of the ground
ee cumings

when faces called flowers float out of the ground
and breathing is wishing and wishing is having-
but keeping is downward and doubting and never
-it's april(yes,april;my darling)it's spring!
yes the pretty birds frolic as spry as can fly
yes the little fish gambol as glad as can be
(yes the mountains are dancing together)

when every leaf opens without any sound
and wishing is having and having is giving-
but keeping is doting and nothing and nonsense
-alive;we're alive,dear:it's(kiss me now)spring!
now the pretty birds hover so she and so he
now the little fish quiver so you and so i
(now the mountains are dancing, the mountains)

when more than was lost has been found has been found
and having is giving and giving is living-
but keeping is darkness and winter and cringing
-it's spring(all our night becomes day)o,it's spring!
all the pretty birds dive to the heart of the sky
all the little fish climb through the mind of the sea
(all the mountains are dancing;are dancing)

Court Date Countdown: Four

Wild Geese
Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting--
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

Court Date Countdown: Six

The Road Not Taken
Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Court Date Countdown: Eight

Eight days. In eight days all this worrying and waiting and wondering about when might finally be over.

It is hard to fathom.

Then again, it might not be over. The possibility of a delay, or multiple delays, is very real. Our agency doesn't give statistics on how many families pass court the first try, but they do tell us that “delays are not uncommon”.

So I am trying to keep my feet on the ground. Trying to balance the extreme elation and longing over the possiblity of what might happen, with the extreme dread of what might not happen. In spite of keeping busy, time is moving very slowly.

Hope you are enjoying the poems. Here's one I hope rings true in eight days.

EIGHT DAYS!

God Says Yes To Me
Kaylin Haught

I asked God if it was okay to be melodramatic
and she said yes
I asked her if it was okay to be short
and she said it sure is
I asked her if I could wear nail polish
or not wear nail polish
and she said honey
she calls me that sometimes
she said you can do just exactly
what you want to
Thanks God I said
And is it even okay if I don't paragraph
my letters
Sweetcakes God said
who knows where she picked that up
what I'm telling you is
Yes Yes Yes

Court Date Countdown: Ten

love is a place
e e cummings

love is a place
& through this place of
love move
(with brightness of peace)
all places

yes is a world
& in this world of
yes live
(skillfully curled)
all worlds

Court Date Countdown: Twelve

The Layers
Stanley Kunitz

I have walked through many lives,
some of them my own,
and I am not who I was,
though some principle of being
abides, from which I struggle
not to stray.

When I look behind,
as I am compelled to look
before I can gather strength
to proceed on my journey,
I see the milestones dwindling
toward the horizon
and the slow fires trailing
from the abandoned camp-sites,
over which scavenger angels
wheel on heavy wings.

Oh, I have made myself a tribe
out of my true affections,
and my tribe is scattered!
How shall the heart be reconciled
to its feast of losses?
In a rising wind
the manic dust of my friends,
those who fell along the way,
bitterly stings my face.

Yet I turn, I turn,
exulting somewhat,
with my will intact to go
wherever I need to go,
and every stone on the road
precious to me.

In my darkest night,
when the moon was covered
and I roamed through wreckage,
a nimbus-clouded voice
directed me:
"Live in the layers,
not on the litter."
Though I lack the art
to decipher it,
no doubt the next chapter
in my book of transformations
is already written.

I am not done with my changes.

Court Date Countdown: Thirteen

The boys are 2 years and 7 months old today.

Praying

Mary Oliver

It doesn't have to be

the blue iris, it could be

weeds in a vacant lot, or a few

small stones; just

pay attention, then patch

a few words together and don't try

to make them elaborate, this isn't

a contest but the doorway

into thanks, and a silence in which

another voice may speak.

Like a Duck

Nine weeks and one day.

It was warm yesterday and I am clinging to hopeful images of spring. Images of the boys planting peas and spinach in the garden with me, or throwing a ball and having it land in the garden. Small hands digging in the dirt, toys littering the yard, running, laughter. I want to grow more laughter in our garden this spring.

In the meantime, I am trying to remember the duck in this poem, and to be a little more like him.

The Duck

by Donald Babcock

Now we're ready to look at something pretty special.
It is a duck, riding the ocean a hundred feet beyond the surf.
No it isn't a gull. A gull always has a raucous touch about him.
This is some sort of duck, and he cuddles in the swells.

He isn't cold, and he is thinking things over.

There is a big heaving in the Atlantic, and he is a part of it.

He looks a bit like a mandarin, or the Lord Buddha meditating under the Bo tree.

But he has hardly enough above the eyes to be a philosopher.

He has poise, however, which is what philosophers must have.

He can rest while the Atlantic heaves, because he rests in the Atlantic.

Probably he doesn't know how large the ocean is.

And neither do you.
But he realizes it.

And what does he do, I ask you?

He sits down in it!
He reposes in the immediate as if it were infinity — which it is.
He has made himself a part of the boundless by easing himself into just where it touches him.

I like the duck.

He doesn't know much.
But he's got religion.

A Favorite Poem

The Place I Want to Get Back To ~by Mary Oliver

The place I want to get back to

is where
in the pinewoods
in the moments between
the darkness

and first light
two deer
came walking down the hill
and when they saw me

they said to each other, okay,
this one is okay,
let's see who she is
and why she is sitting

on the ground, like that,
so quiet, as if
asleep, or in a dream,
but, anyway, harmless;

and so they come
on their slender legs
and gazed upon me
not unlike the way

I go out to the dunes and look
and look and look
into the faces of the flowers;
and then one of them leaned forward

and nuzzled my hand, and what can my life
bring me that could exceed
that brief moment?
For twenty years

I have gone every day to the same woods,
not waiting, exactly, just lingering.
Such gifts, bestowed,
can't be repeated.

If you want to talk about this
come to visit. I live in the house
near the corner, which I have named
Gratitude.

On Joy and Sorrow

Lately some of you have been saying the nicest darn things. I have been moved to tears (the good kind) by comments and posts from some of you, many of whom I have never even met, and it must be said that I appreciate your support so very much. It really does help.

A few of you have mentioned how strong I seem, which makes me realize that I have only been telling you half the story. The nice thing about the internet is that I only have to write when I am feeling positive. I only have to show you things like yummy food and cute hand knit toys. What I don’t show you are the dust bunnies piling up in the corners when I would rather spend way too much time on the internet seeking wisdom from others, or researching adoption, Ethiopia, or transracial parenting because sometimes these are the only things I can think about. Some days I do feel strong, but other days I am grieving. The five stages of grief are denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. Map a day to a stage and you have a pretty good picture of what a week feels like for me right now!

But, over the past 17 months, I have watched other families go through a lot worse than waiting 12+ months for a referral, and that gives me perspective. I watched those families in awe of their strength and in fear of becoming one of them – one of the unfortunate who got hung up somewhere in the process (some of you are probably feeling the same as you read this). I thought if that happened to us I would be a complete and utter mess but here I am, one of “them”, and I am not a mess. Life goes on. Hope and maternal instinct are incredibly powerful motivators. And that old adage, “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger”…well, it’s true. Even though we don't feel strong every day, Mark and I are stronger as individuals and the roots of our marriage have grown deeper and more intertwined because of this experience. I cannot think of a better way to prepare our hearts and our home for two children who are undoubtedly experiencing some pretty tough stuff themselves right now. And, of course being the eternal optimist, I think that the happiness that awaits us will surly outweigh the challenges of the past few months.

I guess what I am trying to say is that I may not always be strong, but what I am is hopeful. What I hope for (oh, please let it be so) is that 2010 brings us, and each and every one of you, much joy!

Happy holidays!

Love,
Heidi


On Joy And Sorrow
Kahlil Gibran

Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?
And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?
When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.
Some of you say, "Joy is greater than sorrow," and others say, "Nay, sorrow is the greater."
But I say unto you, they are inseparable.
Together they come, and when one sits, alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.
Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy.
Only when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced.
When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and his silver, needs must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall.

For Tam

Last Days
~ by Mary Oliver (of course, who else!)

Things are
    changing; things are starting to
            spin, snap, fly off into
                    the blue sleeve of the long
                             afternoon. Oh and ooh
come whistling out of the persished mouth
      of the grass, as things
turn soft, boil back
      into substance and hue. As everything,
           forgetting its own enchantment, whispers;
                 I too love oblivion why not it is full
                        of second chances. Now,
hiss the bright curls of the leaves. Now!
   booms the muscle of the wind.

xoxo, h

Ah, It's Time ***Updated***

The Measure
~ by Mary Oliver, New Poems, 2004 - 2005

I stopped the car and ran back and across the road
and picked up the box turtle, who only
hissed and withdrew herself into her pretty shell.
Well, goodness, it was early in the morning, not too much traffic.
Rather an adventure than a risk, and anyway
who wouldn't give aid to such a shy citizen?
Who wouldn't complete the journey for it, taking it of course
in the direction of its desire: a pinewoods
where, as I learned, the blueberries ripen early.
Probably she had thought, in the middle of the night - Ah, it's time.
Sometimes I think our own lives are watched over like that.
Out of the mystery of the hours and the days
something says - Let's give this one a little trial.
Let's, say, put a turtle in the road she's traveling on, and in a hurry.
Let's see how her life is measuring up, that lucky girl.
So much happiness, so much good fortune. Ah, it's time.

(for Beka & Jake and Rebecca & Colin on the eve of their third try at passing court...xoxo, h)

****UPDATE! Apparently third time really is a charm because both families passed court today! You can go here and here to congratulate the new parents and see pictures of their beautiful children!****

My One Wild and Precious Life

First, a belated Happy Thanksgiving to all! Here are a few things I am thankful for...

This guy...

And these guys...

And the little guys or gals that will some day wear these. Truly, I am so thankful that life has led us to adoption.

And, of course, I am thankful for all of you!

I found myself feeling not only thankful but actually quite grateful for the long holiday weekend and took it as an opportunity to step away from the internet, the phone and all fantasies of getting the call. Four days without even the possibility of that call was not only refreshing but it made me realize that I have become a little too consumed with all this waiting, resulting in a tendency to live in my head and in the future instead of the here and now. My Thanksgiving Resolution (maybe this one will stick better than the New Year's kind!) is to not waste these next few months of waiting merely waiting, but rather living in the present where I have so much to be thankful for :)

The Summer Day

by Mary Oliver

Who made the world?

Who made the swan, and the black bear?

Who made the grasshopper?

This grasshopper, I mean-

the one who has flung herself out of the grass,

the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,

who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-

who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.

Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.

Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.

I don't know exactly what a prayer is.

I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down

into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,

how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,

which is what I have been doing all day.

Tell me, what else should I have done?

Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do

with your one wild and precious life?

Happy Halloween

May Jack-o-lanterns burning bright

Of soft and golden hue

Pierce through the future’s veil and show

What fate now holds for you.

~Author Unknown