verge (vʉrj)
the edge, brink, or margin (of something): also used figuratively the verge of the forest, on the verge of hysteria

to tend or incline (to or toward)
to be in the process of change or transition into something else; pass gradually (into) dawn verging into daylight

Thursday, September 9, 2010

Show and Tell Time

Routine starts in our feet.  Boo and I got back to ours this week.  We spent Labor Day weekend together and are now back in the swing of school.  We spent the long weekend playing Show and Tell about summer and all that took place there.  Sounds like Boo had fun in the pond and with his girls.  It also looks like he enjoyed some yummy food and long, lazy days, judging from his harness and its fit.  It was a happy reunion for us both.  He did his customary lean against my foot while I worked at the computer and occasionally he would sit up and offer his paw for a little benevolence.

Summer tends to fling itself in many directions and so our reunion signified the return of our soles onto the earth.  Grounded-ness in the face of whirling and swirling change.  As we walked and I followed behind, I was reassured by this old and familiar routine.  Boo presses on--you can feel it in his leash. He has destination in his feet.  As we do every September, we both dodge those falling acorns as they bullet their way to earth, and then laugh at the sky when we manage to succeed.  There's really no way of outsmarting gravity--it's pure chance as we amble along.

But nonetheless, we defied gravity several ways this summer, as I shared with Boo.  Sara took flight in July, and Libby and Mere followed in August.  Off they go, looking back only occasionally while aiming towards new horizons.  No, I'm not sad. I am awed. Empty nest isn't what I thought it would be. Empty nest isn't really empty, nor is it actually even a place.  Emptiness is full with possibility, and our nest is found in the soles of our feet--and in the tips of our wings.  We are all together (there's gravity in that), no matter where that is (how we defy it). That's how it feels.

And as I also shared with Boo, the house still sits waiting for a buyer to come along and make it home.  Brian, a life-time friend who is also a sucker for trampolines, performed magic when he wrapped mine in plastic wrap and put the whole shebang in the trunk of his car. Our old trampoline-turned-tanning bed-turned-retrampoline now boings Fred and Zoe into orbit in Rochester, NY. One trampoline up for them, one trampoline down for me.  Gravity defeated!

And then I told Boo about one more thing.  I told him I had been struck hard over the summer.    Like a meteor from very far way, love landed smack dab in the middle of my path.  I have fallen hard (there's gravity in that) and I am letting it lead my way (how we defy it).  Madchen's Man is a study in gravity defied.  He doesn't amble--instead he trips along, and yet like Boo, destination is in his feet.  Rooted in the Unknown and the Uncertain we were each committed to not finding the other. Looking only at our own feet, we have both been unexpectedly launched into a gravity-defying, deep, deep orbit together.

As I return to fall and the start of school, my soul finds its way again along the September path of routine.  Benevolence. There's nothing routine about this routine.  In fact, I'm laughing at the sky.