Anniversary

It was a choice and I took it. A click on the "New designs' tab and, an hour and multiple templates later, I arrived here -- a commitment to color, to design, but most of all, to something new.

A year ago, almost to this day, I did the same thing. I dallied among the details of starting this blog, cowering behind structure that served only to temporarily house my words. These words took off and in their flight, ironically grounded me as I uncovered personal truths.

I've been thinking a lot about circles. About cycles and seasons. That somehow they must be the Universe's way of reminding us that life is constantly and inevitably in motion. That nothing stops. Ever.

That there is a kinetic push that moves us, whether we want to or not, to the next step. And, if we're paying attention, if we're in tune enough, we get to experience the completion of that circle. We get to come -- Full Circle.

A year ago, I started one. My lines were tentative: faint in places, too bold in others. The single stroke of my circle, never leaving the surface of the paper, captured both the imperfect and wondrous in its singular purpose to complete what it started.

Today, I celebrate -- not the completion of this circle but the recognition of its beginning. It is an anniversary of personal importance. Of my commitment to color, to design, and most of all, to Something New.

Brotherly love

I just came back from a trip 15,000 miles from home to celebrate the union of my brother and his wife. Here are the words I dedicated to him during the festivities.
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For many of you who do not know, I am the other sister -- the one who lives in the U.S. and the one who was the youngest in the family for seven glorious years until you came along.

My 'baby' brother.

You were the brother we brought up -- we watched after you, we picked you up when you cried, we held you back when you went too far. You were also the younger brother we didn't always have room for. Remember my 16th birthday party? You were nine and you kept turning down the dance music because it was just too loud for you. Look how things have changed. Then, there was the time when you would stand infront of the TV when your sister and I were trying to watch the Donny and Marie Show because you wanted to watch something else.

But you weren't always in the way. Remember the time when the three of us stood on our coffee table and used it as a platform to 'dive?' Two of us were old enough to know better ... well, at least ONE of us should have been. We did a few spectacular 'dives' off the table/diving platform but of course it was only fun until something breaks. We ended up popping the top of the table under our weight -- the big centerpiece of the living room -- but your sister and I fixed it before mama and abah got home that day and I don't think they ever found out.

You might have heard us jokingly refer to you as the 'unexpected surprise' of the family -- coming seven years after me, and 10 after your sister. Almost like a question mark. But, the truth of the matter is -- you are like that second parenthesis in this family. Mama and abah started this family more than half a century ago and put in place the first parenthesis. They were the first 'arm' and under its wraps, they had your sister, me and with it, all the colorful, rich moments that we've had together.

You are that other arm that completes this embrace. You, my brother, complete the family. You are the brother with the mischevious, loving, well-intentioned ways -- even if it's sometimes in your unconventional style. You brought a certain element of balance into the family; more importantly, you brought into the family your beautiful bride -- a girl as lovely inside as she is on the outside. And, tonight, you've given us all a reason to pause our lives just long enough to rejoice in the celebration of love in your life and in ours as well.

I am so proud of being your sister and I am incredibly happy you've found the person to share the rest of your charmed life with. I know Mama is looking down on this very joyous occasion and she is absolutely beaming with pride.

I love you and I wish you and your bride all the best a sister can ever wish her younger brother.

Today I mowed the lawn

My lawn. For the first time. My lines were squiggly and far from landscaper-worthy. But, today, I gave the pull cord a ceremonial tug -- the cord that had on the one end, a life tightly coiled in anticipation, a fuel tank full to the brim of latent energy trapped and waiting to start up. On the other end, a joyous and loud release of energy, the power to drive, the freedom to be, to do, to go.

To mow the lawn. To take care of business. To move. On.

A friend who's gone through a divorce said his 'mowing the lawn' moment came in the form of 'How will my child eat?' It was that pivotal quirky moment that the balance of my new life seemingly was hanging on to -- long after I have hauled away the bigger rocks and limbs to clear the path I had chosen to take. It's like the pesky pebbles that stop you in your tracks when you mow. You just can't avoid them.

Everyday when I come home from work, I would see the grass on each side of the driveway inching their way into my psyche, swishing and swirling their blades up against my consciousness. They became the most visual confirmation of a change that had taken place in the household over the winter. A change I worked through privately with close friends. Behind closed doors.

Except for now.

Now, my lawn is calling out to let me know: Winter is over. Spring is in its place and growth is paramount as it is unavoidable. It is time.

How often has nature been the inspiration for our life's work? We toil at keeping up with the weeds in our lives, we count on the promise of seasons to save us from the winters of our circumstances and we're only too familiar with the consequences of a flower bed left unnurtured.

I'm not sure if my act of mowing will find itself in the ranks of literary excellence anytime soon. But, in my books, today, I picked up the pebble in my path (which weighed a pesky ton incidentally), started up the mower and ... mowed.

And, yes, I am back.