Here Tonight

“Well you went left and I went right
As the moon hung proud and bright
You would have loved it here tonight”

These lines are from Mumford & Son’s “Home,” a song Jim did not hear from here.

The beagles were anxious to explore their new neighborhood today, and I was eager to take my new camera with us now that my daughter has explained to me how its contents magically can be downloaded.  (Evidently I dropped the old one on cement one time too many.  It has solidified in place, its lens half-open but unseeing and immovable, like Lot’s wife looking back towards Sodom.)

I got this small point-and-shoot camera just in time to capture some last photographs outside our old home along with first pictures from where we have relocated.  I realized only after my daughter explained the magical downloading process that all 366 of the photographs I have taken with the new camera are of the outdoors–as Jim’s almost invariably were.

The day I left our old home for good and did not look back, I had taken a final shot of that persistent lone heart-shaped hydrangea on a bush Jim had planted.  It blossomed first in cornflower blue, and I was certain it soon would be joined by abundant brethren.

But two more seasons passed, and that single heart remained alone among the green.  It recently turned a Victorian red-violet as it prepared to return to sepia.

On the tiny lawn outside our new home I have placed a heaping helping of the season’s political signs.

“Think you’ve got enough signs out there?” my daughter teased me, as Jim would have.

Continue reading “Here Tonight”

Stumbling Over and Over

Many people have gathered that I’ve been away from my computer and from recreational writing for the longest interval ever (since a daughter set me up with this fortuitously idiot-proof blog).

I’ll begin at the end.

I moved.

My brother and I did a final walk-through of the darkened, empty house where my husband Jim and I reared four Lake Woebegonian children.  (That verb’s for you, dear Aunt Judy.)

We moved into this sturdy home–Jim’s dream house, with its own pond, into which one of our toddlers plunked a plump hand during his first visit and lifted out a perch, which he promptly returned to its own home–on a humid October Saturday, when gold leaves clumped underfoot and New Hampshire mosquitoes still flourished.

There were five of us then.

Jim and I brought our three pre-schoolers to this house.  The new part of the house was added in 1805.  There was no dissuading Jim once he saw the home and the land, which burst with fruit trees and berries, neon lime-yellow quince the size of footballs, asparagus stalks with the circumference of silver dollars, and sparkling water graced with at least two magnificent swans.

As Uncle Randy would say at Jim’s service, “The Glennon family was home” once Jim saw this house.

We added sunny baby Suzannah the following winter, and became a family of six.

There are five of us again now. Continue reading “Stumbling Over and Over”

Paint My Spirit Gold

Raise my hands, paint my spirit gold . . . .

The group Mumford & Sons has released a wonderful album Jim did not have a chance to hear.  I cannot stop playing a particular song–“I Will Wait for You“–during my lengthy interstate morning commute, which begins in darkness and turns to daylight by mid-drive.

Mumford & Sons sings of raising hands as a joyful entreaty, a gesture of faith and grace, perhaps offering oneself over to a greater world and power as a kind of salvation.  It seems very unlike the needy raised hands which beseech:

. . . . If you are lying
Flat on your back with arms outstretched behind you,
You say you require
Emergency treatment; if you are standing erect and holding
Arms horizontal, you mean you are not ready;
If you hold them over
Your head, you want to be picked up. . . .

Continue reading “Paint My Spirit Gold”

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