Not particulary cheery, this message

Every morning, or almost every morning, I wake early, by 5 or before. Yesterday morning, no exception, but yesterday morning I heard my mother's voice call my name. It was so clear that I sat up and answered, "What?"

When I was fully awake and able to think, I knew I was scared. It scared the soup out of me, in fact. I do not want her to call me home. Not yet.

Such things have been on my mind since that Friday night, two weeks ago, when Kathy called to tell me our very dear and long-time friend Mary Ellen had died. It was a strange call, much later than Kathy knew, because I was still in Pennsylvania and we were up with the baby. And it was a sad message. 

Mary Ellen--Mame, as her husband and sisters called her--was a striking tall woman, who knew how to dress and who played tennis with friends as long as I knew her.  For so many years she cut my hair--yes I paid her--and for many more years than that we went to Petersons' house every New Year's Eve. They, Petersons, moved to Utah a couple of years ago. She was 75. Two years older than I.

Then Wednesday of this week Jackie told me Val Feller died. He of round trampoline sales and the little amusement place up on Canyon Hill, The Chalet, that never quite made a go of it, even with its miniature golf and go-carts. Val had served his mission in Switzerland and from then on loved all things Swiss. Don't know his age. Jackie said, "He was old, old for a long time." I'm not sure what that means.

Hard when your friends start to die.

Two Things

On the flight back to Pennsylvania I read Under the Wide and Starry Sky, a novel by Nancy Horan, about Robert Louis Stevenson (Treasure Island, Kidnapped, Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, etc.),  and the American woman he fell in love with and married.

I like the book very much, have given it to Ann and bought a copy for Alyce's mother-in-law.

When I was a child, we played a card game called Authors and Robert Louis Stevenson was among those authors whose names I learned early in my life. And so he became, so to speak, mine.

Back then I also read some of his poems in A Child's Garden of Verses. Stevenson, known as Louis in the novel, was an only child and was sick as a child, troubled by tuberculosis, from which he suffered all his life, thriving when at sea and eventually settling in Samoa, where he could breathe and have fewer traumatic episodes.

One of his most famous poems reflects his childhood of constant illness. It's a favorite of mine. I learned it as a child. I'm sure many of you know it, too.

The Land of Counterpane

When I was sick and lay a-bed,
I had two pillows at my head,
And all my toys beside me lay,
To keep me happy all the day.

And sometimes for an hour or so
I watched my leaden soldiers go,
With different uniforms and drills,
Among the bed-clothes, through the hills;

And sometimes sent my ships in fleets
All up and down among the sheets;
Or brought my trees and houses out,
And planted cities all about.

I was the giant great and still
That sits upon the pillow-hill,
And sees before him, dale and plain,
The pleasant land of counterpane.

*     *     *

Benjamin Saxby Larsen is two weeks old. They wrap him, swaddle him. That's the way with infants, you know. But he has a mind of his own and always works to get his hands out. Then he may put one or both hands by his cheek to sleep.

It is cute.

bbl is here

When we have a grand and great experience, it's hard to tell about. Words fail. They not only fail us, they just plain old fail.

I've had such an experience in Pennsylvania. Alyce. Labor. Delivery. Long. Hard. Very long and very hard. Then the miracle. He's here, and it's like he always has been here.

Benjamin Saxby Larsen. Born 2/9/14. That's a Sunday. Kind of a holy thing, you know.

He brought a lot of love with him. We felt it as soon as we saw him. His love filled the room and filled us up. It's true. We, I, love him immediately and forever. As I love his mother.

I am happy for her and Ben. That's her husband. I am proud of her, worried about her, worried about the baby, worried about everything, even worried about myself because I worry. I can't seem to help it. But I am hopeful about everything, too, and confident. I learned a lot about Alyce, my daughter, whom I do know well. But this is new and I love how she is responding to it, to her little boy.

His mother's little treasure
His father's little joy
Benjamin Saxby Larsen
Their much-wanted, long-awaited, very expensive, well-loved, blessed, sweet and precious boy.