The Eleventh Month

25 Monday Nov 2013

I should think it must be very difficult to be November. I imagine November sitting around a basement support group with all the other months, sporting weeks-old stubble, dressed in grays and browns, lamenting yeah, I do get a pretty cool holiday, but duuuude, that’s it! I’m like a total downer, man. I ‘m just sayin’, the longer I’m me the worse it gets. I can still hear my father yelling ‘why can’t you be more like July?’

Poor, lonely November. When Maine people hesitantly glance down from the absolute high of MayJuneJulyAugustSeptemberOctober into the promise of bleak weather hell the other 6 months of the year. November’s almost certainly the chilly beginning of an icy, long, arduous winter. And the view is stark. It is stark indeed.

Take this particular November, for instance.

No, please, take it. Especially the past week. Take it in and warm it up and send it back to me for Christmas.

And while you’re at it, take the 120 year old house I live in, since, I should probably mention, it’s really more of a cardboard cutout play area, given that I can dry my hair with no electricity if it’s windy enough and I stand in front of one of the bigger windows. That’s just one of its many virtues.

November is capricious of course, as all children are. Its toddler days are best, with bright, sandal-wearing days and sweater-wearing nights. Some years the November teenage days are lovely and temperate, like a soul who greets even strangers with a smile. Some years, he’s just a gnarly beast, fighting about everything and bringing out the worst in everyone. One thing that you can count on, though, is that the older November gets, the more biting and brusque he becomes, the more he wallows in what used to be, grasping, in his middle age, at ever warmer days that cannot be recaptured. You can see why he’s downright unlikeable, though you find yourself hoping he can pull it off.

But November never ends up being anything but November.

Which we also love.

Because just about the time we hate him the most, like we couldn’t have seen it coming, Thanksgiving arrives. And something magical happens. November sits up a little straighter, eyes clearer and brighter. He has found something in himself worth cherishing – and so the rest of us follow suit.

We remember that we are thankful for all that has been, and all that will come, and for us Mainers, that includes winter. And snow. And sleet. And slush. And frigid air that hurts to breathe. We give thanks for shovels and plows and those icy-picky metal things you clink on your shoes so you don’t fall on your ass walking 10 feet to get the mail.

But also sledding. And skiing. And building snowmen with your children. And hot cocoa. And wet mittens by the heater. And snuggling for warmth. Hot soup. White sparkly lights everywhere. The smell of spruce in the house. Those things are also on their way.

It’s just a guess, but I’m thinking November only visits the basement support group once or twice before he puts on his suit coat and heads for the door. He’s headed home for a shower and a clean shave. He’s got a face that more than just a mother could love.

The Rabbit and the Hare. And Natalie.

08 Sunday Sep 2013

Posted by Vicki Hamlin in Family Ties, Pride and Joy, Stuff I Want to Tell You About, Uncategorized

≈ 4 Comments

Our two boys showed their natural affinities for activity very early on. Garrett liked to throw things, hit things, run as fast as possible in whatever direction we were moving, and to push his body to its limit at every opportunity. He also loved to yell. To climb things. To stay awake until he would fall asleep sitting straight up in his chair at the dining room table. He could not have cared less about food, snuggles, the needs or wants of other human beings.

Luke, in his turn, discovered that he didn’t need to move a mile a minute. He watched first, so that when he was ready to try something, he could do it with precision. Slower maybe, but more accurately too. Easy laughter and acceptance of all people and any situation have been the qualities that have drawn people to Luke since he was an infant. He loves all things sensual: food, warm water, hugs, conversation. He thinks of others first. Also – that boy can sleep!

So when Natalie came along and, even as a toddler showed no real magnetic draw to – well, anything – we were shocked — having expected our third child to pull us into her particular orbit as the boys had. However. She’s not a risk-taker. Nor is she a watcher. In fact, if she watches too long, she just loses sight of getting in there and trying things herself. Which, come to think of it, might just be her M.O..

She’s happy-go-lucky and will take part in whatever we are doing (or, now, whatever her friends are doing) but she doesn’t demand anything for herself. She follows. Yet she’s no pushover. She’s downright bossy. But it’s almost as if she’s just trying on that personality for size, because even in her bossiness, she’s not offensive, rude or unlikeable. My point is — I don’t think she’s fully hatched.

Is this because she is a girl? A third child? We’re not sure. But we’re still trying to figure out just what is going to bring that girl the utter joy that Garrett feels on a baseball field and Luke feels in a pool. Who doesn’t deserve to find the things that make them come alive?

So. This year, she thought she’d try horseback riding and we wholeheartedly agreed to make it happen.

Tobasco Stables is in Belmont, only a few miles from our house. My friend and former colleague, Avis, and her daughter, Megan, own it and give lessons at “camp” in the summer. Natalie spent 4 days taking care of and riding Jack, a stunning Appaloosa who loves apples, being brushed, and, as it turns out, Natalie.

Where Jack lives.

A girl and her horse – a truly beautiful thing.

Jack is a good horse. He is gentle and slow moving, and patient. When we would arrive at the stable he would greet Natalie outside, at the edge of the fence, and he would whinny when she walked away to go home. He knew she was his for the week and wanted to be friends. But Jack is big. And Natalie is little. And she spent 4 days hoping she didn’t get trampled on. Which wasn’t the basis of what she needed in a relationship.

Here, in this pic above, off the horse, she was most comfortable. Grooming and petting are her thing. Riding, however, took her to the edge of her carefully carved out comfort space, and, sometimes, over. Can you hear the crack?

She is totally thinking “whoa, Jack, whoa” – her favorite phrase of the week. She also thinks she’s moving at the speed of light.

She so wanted to love horseback riding. She just didn’t. She felt small and afraid and not at all in control. Which Jack knew, and accepted, but which she didn’t know, and couldn’t, therefore, accept about herself.

So when we left the stable in July, we didn’t go back. We asked her if she’d like to continue lessons and she squinched up her nose at us, big blue eyes blinking. “I don’t think so,” she said, “okay?”

Of course okay. So we keep looking for a spark that makes this girl’s heart leap up.

She fell in love. But not enough to make her stay.

Anyeong Hee Gaseyo (Goodbye, you are leaving!)

08 Sunday Sep 2013

Posted by Vicki Hamlin in Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Dear Summer,

I know you don’t want to go, and believe me, I’d go wherever you’re going if I could, but it’s time to say goodbye.

Seriously. Stop being so wonderful. You should go. I’m sure there are things I should be doing instead of enjoying your sunny, fun company; responsible things like grading this pile of Reading Responses and making a very dry lesson on Study Skills somehow engaging. I know, it’s the stuff I live for. But you don’t. So go. Go be Summer somewhere else.

We’ve had an indelible, beautiful time June, July, August – all three of you; and although in a year I will see you again, we both know it won’t be the same.

What with Garrett entering high school and Luke embarking on middle school, Natalie headed to third grade, my time with them is, at best, limited. It might happen that next year brings another fun-filled family-centered 10 weeks, with 3 kids who still want to spend time with us, chucking around a frisbee, mastering handstands underwater, racing to first base in kickball, racing to the bottom of a waterslide, racing for the best seat on the couch, snuggled up around the campfire.

But then again, maybe it won’t.

And in case it doesn’t, I write to say thank you, Summer, I am grateful for these gifts you gave me.