Baptism Stories

an essay to open; plus a few delightful things

I wish I’d written down all my children’s baptism stories. The hushed gathering in the back of the church. The way the water sounded when it dripped back into the metal cistern, having rolled softly off their tiny foreheads. It was night, Easter Eve. Or another time, it was morning. We dressed up; wore heels. We were holding babies in stiff nice clothing, two odd things that go together sometimes. One older sister’s candle paper caught on fire and she handed it to me in a trusting, thrusting panic. I dropped it to the tile floor and stepped on the flames out before anyone even noticed the fluke. We bought a case of sparkling wine and ordered letter pressed invitations from a friend (for the first baby only, of course).

Up with the fifth baby in the dark, my body propped upright to burp effectively while my brain slips as close back to the edge of sleep that it can, I think of a visit from the goon squad. A wonderful novel that will continue to tell the future for several years to come, though the present does seem to be catching up. In Jennifer Egan’s world you can upload your memories to massive social cloud and rewatch scenes from your past, even observing them from different angles. In exchange for the ability to meander back in time from all angles, anyone else can access these memories as well, once you’ve uploaded them. A few choose not to, but majority of the population takes the leap.

Is it worth the permissions you‘d have to click through to achieve this share-all dystopia, one that sounds like anyone’s utopia at times? Would I relax and reassure myself that I can always go back and see this moment again?

Flicking through images, I come upon a song of audrey and nathan on instagram.

audreyandnathan

A post shared by @audreyandnathan

She crones a recent tale of searching for a photo that doesn’t exist, on her phone. Modern problem, but it sounds like an ancient rune, an old mother softly humming a memory in the fading afternoon light while she sweeps a stone floor. Watching it makes me cry. I wouldn’t wish for a go-pro clipped on my fridge, but the reality is that countless beautiful moments are caught within my mind, they are inaccessible but they make up the deeply sunk foundation stones of my current light-filled psyche.

My mind rifles through for a metaphor. It’s a chest of jewels, these memories of babies. Of falling in love. Of being loved. Of falling asleep knowing my whole family is in the house. Kisses. Noses.

It’s a bouquet. It’s a coil of sparkly ice. It’s a thin net woven of diamond string.

Here’s what a perfect metaphor could explain, if I could settle on one: are the memories adornment, layers on top of me as I move forward? Or are they a haunting?

The gifts of future tech would not be the same as me telling these stories, their stories, to my children though. They put oil on your forehead and salt on your tongue I’d say. You didn’t cry but you could have, we wouldn’t have minded it.

Wonderful Things Lately… 

It’s sugaring season here in Vermont which means the sap from maple trees is flowing into buckets. There’s still deep snow on the ground, but it helps that there’s something productive to check on outside.

If you already turned 40, what did you do for your 40th? I'm ruminating on mine (next month!). Forgive me if I’ve already linked to Farmhouse Schoolhouse’s Walk to 40 in 40 Books post, but here it is again.

I loved the book Martyr! Darkly funny, insightful observations about the American self, poetic to its core, and the characters felt so real to me. Sorry for the messy photo—I’m was mixing up our favorite energy balls, recipe here. Anyways, it was the perfect beach read (see beach scene below).

Joanie wrote a new style post at the blog. The other day my friend Jess and I were both wearing sweaters and corduroy barrel pants. I’m not sure it gets much more comfortable than that!

I finished my bottle of Milk Moon that I bought before Thomas came. You keep it in the fridge, and drink an ounce or two every time you need a little mood rebalancing (drinking a mug of bone broth or chicken broth is another excellent way to do this postpartum). It tastes like strawberry juice, is made from all sorts of interesting botanicals, and best of all: works! Let my empty bottle recommend it to you.

Thomas and I went to South Beach Florida to celebrate my high school friend’s 40th. South Beach, the barrier island in front of Miami is actually one of my favorite places. Great walking sidewalks, volleyball athletes showing off everywhere, adorable restaurants & cafes, and classy architecture. There are a crazy amount of hotels within one mile, which means pretty good deals. It’s just a delightful place to be for a weekend. A cafe there was selling three beignets for $5 which might be the best price in the United States?

I’m still thinking about my plate of loaded nachos & michelada at Oh Mexico!

And, a quote for you…

Don’t Hesitate

If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy,
don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty
of lives and whole towns destroyed or about
to be. We are not wise, and not very often
kind. And much can never be redeemed.
Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this
is its way of fighting back, that sometimes
something happens better than all the riches
or power in the world. It could be anything,
but very likely you notice it in the instant
when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the
case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid
of its plenty. Joy is not made to be a crumb.

-Mary Oliver