Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

Therein Rest the Mysteries

The opening scene of a late night movie pans the Northern California coast.  Muir Woods, the Golden Gate bridge.

These visuals resound through my cells, humming and rising flesh in a surprising and tingling resonance.  Just to see this place on the 13 inch monitor of my laptop screen satiates some unknown need.

Perhaps my body somehow knows the source of its existence.  That my parent’s love was seeded in the inlets of Sausalito.  Maybe it’s the escape – from the summery heat of the San Joaquin Valley to my aunt and uncle’s on the other side of Mt. Tamalpais – that still evokes reprieve.

Where the tides lap against the land from Mt. Tam to Santa Lucia, therein rests a piece of my heart.

Somewhere in last night’s movie was a quote from a Robert Hass poem I had never heard before.

This morning I wake with snippets.

“…dusks smelling of Madrone…lupine grows thick in the rockface…self-heal at creekside…”

I’m left with mysteries.

How a landscape can root its essence deep inside my body.  How a string of words can sing, even if I don’t know why.

“…What I want happens
not when the deer freezes in the shade
and looks at you and you hold very still
and meet her gaze but in the moment after
when she flicks her ears & starts to feed again.”

– from “Santa Lucia” by Robert Hass

courtesy of Frans Lanting
Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

Friend in the Ferns

Jessica Dofflemyer ~ all rights reserved

We had a friend in the ferns by the front door this afternoon.

His (or her) large eyes scanned our movements, tilting its head in our direction.  It even climbed on Jeb’s hand and hung out with him for a little while.

I can’t help but feel like I’m in the company of an ancient alien whenever I encounter a praying mantis.  It’s with curiosity and awe that I take it as a good omen to have this insect at my door.

Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

Skip It

This morning I’m just going to skip it.

I’ve been trying to keep everything in tact, maintaining as much of my usual routine as possible throughout the swirl of random chaos.  I think in the process, I’ve become just plain petered out.

These past few mornings I’ve had 30 minutes to brew a cup of coffee and post something to the Archives before rousing Jeb from slumber.  I’ll have just enough time to herd him to the car with some popcorn in a Tupperware container, tossed in a tote bag with his hand-held video game.  We make our way to yoga class (where it’s true, I receive great benefit and mental sanity) as I offer sun salutations while he battles Star Wars clones.

This regimen has continued with us coming home, me throwing together some fruit or cereal for his breakfast and then diving straight into work at the computer for the rest of the day.  I’m still digging paperwork and pencils out of the moving boxes that surround my desk, as I haven’t quite scheduled the unpacking project into my calendar.

But today, it’s Friday.  I have work, but no major deadlines pressing.  I’m rubbing my sleepy eyes and have not yet made that cup of coffee. Jeb’s still in bed.  I’m thinking I’ll forgo that semblance of routine I’ve been trying to maintain.

I’m not slacking.  Just for this morning, I vote to pass.

In the name of moderation we’re going to have a leisurely start to our day.  We’ll make a mango-cherry-banana smoothie and pour the leftovers into popsicle molds.  We’ll eat breakfast next to last night’s puzzle and see if we can fit some more pieces together.  Maybe we’ll take a morning walk.

I’ll table the lists, the requests, the deadlines.  Just for a little bit.  Remember that this is my life.  Our life.  We only have these moments.  Work will get done.  Those yoga postures will unfold.  Boxes will get unpacked.

This morning I get to be with my seven-year old in the height of summer vacation.  Have just a little time to make silly voices and see him laugh.  Sip a smoothie from a straw.  Relax.

Enjoy the beauty found, when once in a while, you just decide to skip it.