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

Sunday, August 21, 2011


hey m and ge...

while i was running around town on errands today, i got your email with the last minute details.  i stopped everything i was doing to read it. my favorite part--the part that made me cry--was every single word you wrote.   each word had its own little heartbeat that came from you.  and your happiness....well, my eyes--joytears.

i think of the thousands of miles you've traveled to get to here, and i think of the thousands of miles we've all traveled to join you in this very spot--and this three-week moment begins the best part of the very best part.  i'm savoring your anticipation, our anticipation.

i know you're both probably busy running around town on errands, but i wanted to stop all that for a minute to tell you that we're all right here with you, every last step of the way... and yes, ecstatic.

much love back,
ps.  mind if i use your pictures? ; )

Thursday, August 18, 2011

Riley Came Home!

The very best of news from Terry, late last night... 

"Riley was found tonight by some very nice people off of Martins Pond Rd. He was within 1/4 mile of where he went missing. He is home with now and none for the worse for wear, many brambles and needs a bath. The person who recognized him did so from the may flyers we put up all over town and especially on the rail trail. He ripped my phone number off the bottom of the flyer and used it to call me tonight. His family and a friend were able to surround the truck Riley was hiding under while he called us and met us at the end of lost lake and took us up to his barn where the truck was. As soon as he heard Janet's voice calling him he came out and into her arms. He was one happy Sheltie. I picked him up and put him in the car and drove him home.  Janet and I wish to thank all the people whom have supported us in our search for Riley. They are so many that if I tried to name them I would surely forget some one, so once again Janet and I thank all of you from the bottom of our heart!
Terry & Janet"

Happy beyond belief.

Sunday, August 14, 2011

Riley, Come Home!

Dear Friends,

Please please please keep your eyes open for Riley, a sweet little three year old Sheltie who is on the loose somewhere in the Groton area.  He was last seen on the Rail Trail. His owners, Terry and Janet, appreciate your help in finding him.  Call the number on the poster if you see him.  The more people who look, the better the chances that he gets found. I'm told that he likes treats!

He's such a sweet looking boy.

Come home soon, fella...


Friday, August 12, 2011

A Goodbye

It's been two years--already.

Two years since I started Verging my day to day.

A beginning that started at an ending, the Verge has given me great comfort, friends, and joy.  The Verge has been my tree house of words and observations--a place to climb to and whisper, or to lay back and watch the wind sway the trunk against a firm blue sky.  Verging has marked the rest stops along the way and provided me with mile markers, each one pointing out what's Right Here, and Right Now.

But last night...

Last night I had a vivid dream and you were in it.  We happily spoke. So happily. I was  grateful-joyful about that chance.  It had been two years since your sudden departure.  I knew this in the dream--and so did you.  In this bizarre chance meeting, you told me about your life since then, and I told you about mine.  I was happy for you--you were happy for me.  No knots.

When I woke, I was crying, my face damp with silent and urgent tears.  I was startled by it.  Startled, again. It's as if they were nudging me to say so.  To say these things. To write these things.... tell you.

We never really said goodbye.  It happened so fast and abruptly.  You didn't want to prolong the ending--and I just wanted one more conversation.  I just wanted to catch my breath, to think, to talk, to grasp it. But at your wish, our parting was absolute.  Final.  One shot, a clean cut. To a large extent, you were right.  It might have dragged on, yes.  I can see that.  And you were always the wiser about hard things. But then you vanished into the commuter crowd as you boarded the train--suddenly absorbed into a memory--forever. And I stood near the platform unable to breathe.

As you can see (and I don't even know if you know about the Verge), life has gone on here.  And very well.  I couldn't have a more beautiful life today.  I don't say that in a ha-ha-ha way..but more as a sort of Aha. An aha to myself. Life has gone on. The girls--amazing.  My family, close.  I love (adore) my job and my friends.  I have a dog now.  I still meditate.  And knit.

But there is a little piece of me still standing on the train platform, waiting.

Waiting for what, I didn't know. Until last night.  My dream....

My dream was no accident.  When I woke this morning, I checked--it was two years ago to the day.  It has been two years of silence.  Two years of letting go.  Two years of never hearing your voice again. Two years of silently saying goodbye to you alone in my head, morning (mourning) after morning (mourning)...after morning (mourning).

It's not that I have regrets or miss you.  But I miss that we never spoke again. If we had just been able to talk through our ending as thoughtfully as we had talked through our beginning, I would have acknowledged my shortcomings. I would have asked to light a candle and to share a poem. I would have asked for a more gentle landing--a compassionate farewell, and I would have said thank you.  I would have held your hand and said goodbye, but slowly.  And bravely. Do you still have pain?  I hope you don't.  How is your mother?  Are you healthy? Do you still pray before breakfast?  Are you happy?

I had planned to wrap up the Verge for good after two years.  I've said that out loud several times to several people.  My life is wonderfully and chaotically routine.  Sometimes I think putting words to it diminishes the preciousness of my experience.  But two years is long enough.

So here it is.  It's time.  With this post I have reached a conclusion. I've said all that I needed to say here.
I am letting you go, finally, on my terms, as I've needed to do for so long. I've needed to say these words out loud. I've needed to put the period at the end of your sentence.

But The Verge will go on.  I have new things to write about. Plus, I love writing. I have a home in this virtual tree house. But instead of writing my way from that train platform, I will be writing my way forward, a bit freer, a bit more settled.  Two years is indeed long enough.  Period.

Buckle your seat belt, Mercy.  We're going for a ride.