Autumn

Suddenly orange makes a flamboyant entrance, corn husks display pale shades of brown, and apple orchards are filled with people picking apples— each bag emblazoned with the orchard's name.

I roam about a farm stand checking out the gourds and squashes, seed pods, Indian Corn, squat ornamental cabbages and hills of pumpkins.

Today it feels like summer until late afternoon when a chill replaces the warmth.

Memories Are Like Ripples of Water

An archeologist finds shards of pottery, labels the find and continues to look for the remaining pieces. Find enough broken fragments and a shape forms. I think it’s like stories. What is an autobiography or a biography but a collection of stories and conjectures? Today is your birthday. I only have a handful of stories—too few to see the whole, but enough to savor as memories: Climbing Look Out Mountain and earning red bandanas because no one whined about how long it took, sledding two to a sled and crashing into snow banks, drawing pictures of Mickey Mouse with magic markers, knee high in leaves at Gambrill State Park and disappearing into cone shaped piles of autumn, going to Girl scout Camp and learning how to cook using a tin can. I still have a picture of you wearing your Brownie outfit.

I remember when we made ratatouille —I peeled and you cut. I see us standing in the kitchen adding spices to the simmering zucchini, onion and eggplant, slivers of mushrooms and sliced tomatoes. Whenever I make that dish I think of the aroma in that kitchen and how the universe stopped for a few moments. Remember the surprise party you planned? I walked in and found a table set with hats, favors, paper cups and cupcakes you baked. I almost expected that when I ate one it would be filled with ratatouille. There are other memories—like flecks of paint on shards—too hard to really decipher. I imagine what you look like and I find it hard to add years. Today I’ll stand in the kitchen and recall how you added basil and I added oregano. Happy Birthday. May your year be filled with blessings.

On Faith

So many things I take on faith—staying in the air while flying, gravity tethering me to the earth, the tides continuing to pursue their relentless in and out movements, the return of the geese to the same pond. I find it easier to dissect a piece of writing, to discuss a book, to make connections between historical times and ideas, to ponder philosophy than to attempt to really understand why my light goes on when I flick a switch. I imagine that if I took the time I could learn why, but I’d still need faith when it came to understanding quantum physics. I can parrot phrases about matter and protons and neutrons and how they are made of three quarks. But I really don’t know anything about a quark—let alone three quarks.


Icarus, come sit by my side and marvel.Don't think about the feat of imagining, of designing, of manufacturing, of testing. Delight in the clouds, blue sky, landforms , and the expanse.

Amen
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Rosh Hashanah

"L'shanah tovah tikatev v'taihatem" (May you be inscribed and sealed for a good year).