The blur of the busy, the full plate, and the inability to see what is missing or left out or left behind until I trip over the very necessity that I proclaim I steadfastly chase and hold onto dearly . . . 

Joy.

In the darkness that I allowed to blossom last week, I saw the glories of fall—the orange and gold leaves of the massive tree I can see from my kitchen window!  I have observed this tree washing dishes and cooking and watering plants and wondering how I am going to close my two kitchen windows tight. The tree is a few doors down the block in another backyard.  Green all summer, it has slowly been turning into a mighty blaze of autumn color. Last Monday, it was glorious as if lit from deep within, as if ablaze of yellows and oranges. I was almost unable to take in so much color. As the week moved forward and the wind picked up, topmost leaves fell in a rain of gold. By Wednesday, some of the orange was fading into brown and some of the brown joined the rain. By Friday, the gold had almost vanished and the tree top was almost bare, and the weekend saw more of the same.  Today, much more than half the tree is all branches, a skeleton of its summer self.

The noticing filled me with something that I had lost to exhaustion and frustration.

I can admit to missing the necessity of raking leaves.  I know I used to complain when my Madison gardens were filled over and over with the leaves of big trees for what felt like months.  And I miss the Julia as a little girl who raked and jumped in piles and enjoyed it all. Now, I look in yards full of leaves with a bit of longing, but not enough longing to volunteer to help rake.  Maybe some year soon?

Preparing for a new monthly church gathering for spiritual deepening (shades of the FUS Quest program), I engaged in the practice of Lectio Divina in a secular form, using a writing instead of a bible verse. I read my favorite Rilke quote about living the questions without reaching for answers.  The short phrase that caught my eye, that shimmers as I dove into meaning was “And the point is, live everything.” As I probed the meaning, went deeper into what I saw in those words, the awareness that living everything was exactly what I was not doing.

Immersed in worry and frustration and anxiety and good ol’ fear about Julia’s present and future, I have been overlooking some of the loveliness of the days like Alfie’s curious lookings and his first smiles. In a single week, a few weeks ago, he discovered the world and the eyes of the person who is cuddling him.

Wilbur wanted to be a zebra for Halloween and I was able to make the costume. I have always, always enjoyed sewing costumes for my girls. With just a bit of luck, this is the first of many halloween wishes that I will be able to satisfy.

 Last year at this time, we were traveling in Vietnam and I loved the adventure. This year there has been no journeying, apart from the armchair adventures of friends sharing on Facebook. Quite unexpectedly, however, we spent our early fall weekends driving a few hours in various directions for four of five weekend. These travel opportunities came to me and fit together like a surprising and interesting puzzle. 

Mid-september, Julia and I were at the Cape to meet and spend time with a cousin who I had not met.  I knew about her from the stories that our grandmother told me when I was a very little girl, but this cousin was never a part of my growing up after her parents’ divorce. We have been in touch via holiday cards and Facebook for a few years and I jumped at the chance to meet her.  

And we had a marvolous time. We connected and spent more time talking together than I could have expected. It was pretty incredible to discover a new relative whose sensibility I share.

Long before the Cape weekend was planned, Sarah Grace, director of flying lessons, the movie, planned a weekend reunion in Maryland where the movie was shot.  It was good to see those who came and we missed those who could not be there. It was a family reunion and Julia was in her element. She interacted and participated with those wonderful people more than she usually does at gatherings. I remain so grateful for what Sarah created — so much more than a story on film, a place where Julia is accepted and befriended and loved just as she is. This place of home, be it those two weeks of shooting the movie or the weekend’s reunion, exists in the hearts of all of those people. Flying Lessons was shown outside on Saturday night on a home made screen wedged between trees and it was a delight!

After the reunion was planned, Flying Lessons was scheduled to be shown at the West Newton Cinema on Thursday, September 19 (the week between our travels). I announced it via emailed to my people from HILR and FUSN, as well as Julia’s people from her school programs, rowing and the Berklee music program, and some friends. We had a wonderful audience who was truly engaged in the narrative and who asked probing questions during the panel talk afterwards.  

And then right before Julia and I were to leave for the Cape, I received an email inviting Julia to Zeno Mountain Farm in Lincoln, VT, for their Fall Weekend. Zeno is a very special place where people with disabilities come every summer to make art—performing, music making and graphic art. There is a core belief in building community and making art, and it seemed just perfect for Julia. It could give Julia a place to go for a week or two every summer to make art for the rest of her life. 

I’ve been chasing the director for the last five years and last spring Julia had a pretty good zoom interview with him. The weekend invite was a chance for them to know her and her to get to know them.

I hesitated for a bit—we already had a lot going on and I have kept it in mind to give Julia as much down time as she seems to crave. It was another long drive, a friend had offered us tickets to a Saturday night show and I had a busy church weekend. I would need a place to stay—the invitation was for her alone and it was too far to drive up and back twice. For a few moments I didn’t want to make all the arrangements and re-arrangements. Thankfully, I have friends who intervened, giving me clear advice: “Are you nuts? Go!” I listened, I re-arranged and we went.

Julia was pretty much a hit at Zeno, and touring the place was incredible. Good people, excellent values and a really incredible camp set up. Julia complained about no internet service. Of course. But she had a good time, including winning a pie eating contest. Can’t believe she was willing to stick her face into a pie to eat it without using her hands. I am hoping that someone sends me a picture. 

At home, Julia continues to work on independent skills.  Two weeks ago, I asked her to start packing her lunch the evening before she goes to her program. I have made it a point over the last months to give her approximately the same lunch every day and so, she knew what the lunch “should” look like.  Frozen fried rice and dumplings from Trader Joe’s in half of her bento box, and a mix of fruit and vegetables in the other half.  I had small tomatoes, cucumbers and grapes ready to pack, but by the third day of packing lunch, she changed out the grapes and tomatoes for apple pieces and small carrots. On another day, we didn’t have enough rice for her lunch and she made herself a peanutbutter and jelly sandwich. This is a small step, this is huge! Sometimes she grumbles about doing the prep work in the evening—there is no way she would ever do it in the morning—but grumbles aside, she is doing it.

Two weeks ago, Julia made cookies by herself including taking the trays in and out of the hot oven.  She did wear the huge oven mitts we bought a few years ago.  She took a long, really long time to pull the recipe together.  And I was in the kitchen the whole time working on supper.  And she did it.  

And very recently, Julia has been telling me she is going to do things for me.  Some don’t make sense but some, like cooking or taking me places, are very sweet.  

And then there is Ed, who in the midst of his busy of supporting the striking hotel workers and teaching political classes, takes time to care for us—during our weekend jaunts to Vermont and Maryland, and brunch and a parade for a tiny zebra, and sometimes ice cream for dessert. 

Yup, there is a good deal of joy scattered around my life, the exact kind of joy that I did not expect to see again.