Reflections on the Teche

When one door of happiness closes, another opens; but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which has opened for us. — Helen Keller

 
I was sitting alone in the teacher’s lounge quietly eating my salad, when another teacher walked through and said, “It must be nice to have a quiet lunch to yourself.”
I hadn’t looked at my lunchtime that way. I travel from one school to another and scarf down my lunch in a 40 minute time period. I usually feel rushed, and often feel left out of the conversations among teachers that happen when you can stay at one school long enough. But today, this teacher made me think twice. Yes, it is nice to have quiet time to eat my lunch. Just relax and enjoy.
We don’t always see our own lot as a happy one. I have struggled with the “empty nest” syndrome. When I was raising my children, it seemed we were always busy. I was wishing for the day when I didn’t have to carpool, wash a mound of clothes, and settle sibling arguments. I wanted this day to come and now that it’s here, I feel sad for that loss. It took me a while to appreciate my new stage in life. Like the quote from Helen Keller, I looked long at the closed door of raising children before I was able to see another door. The end of the holiday season makes me feel much the same way. My daughters are safely back to their respective adult lives and I am left feeling like something is missing.
The Christmas tree is at the curb looking much like a discarded dead bush and the crèche collection is packed away in its Rubbermaid tub. My living room looks bare, and the cold air seeps in. But… a new year has begun, 2011 is here. So… I look to the year ahead with anticipation and joy. What will come next?
Here, I offer a poem reflection from New Year’s Day, 2007
A Walk Alone on New Year’s Day
I walk among the packages that litter the curb,
Remnants of holiday gifts—Tool box, Dell computer, HD TV–
We’ve opened them up, made them part
of our household furniture, warranties stored in file folders.
I walk to Joni’s Circle Game
round and round this line of homes.
Scents of gumbo, cabbage, black-eyed peas
invite me in for a bite.
I walk around cars parked at the curb
lining driveways, on the lawn.
Everyone is home while I walk
and wait for daughters’ return.
After my walk, I sip hot tea
watching the bayou sway to the tune of chickadees.
Over there, on a bare crepe myrtle branch,
father cardinal announces,
Nothing is hurried here.

Wink Gaines, "Cardinal in Winter"

The satsuma tree in our backyard is still full of bright orange citrus fruit.  We started harvesting in late September and here it is the first of January.   

I live in a world of abundance.  Cleaning out a closet on New Year’s Day, I found an abundance of Christmas tins.  I thought about keeping them but realized that I was not going to suddenly begin baking for Christmas gifts, so I put them in a box for Goodwill.  My mother-in-law informed me that she always gives them back to the giver.  I don’t remember from whence they all came.  I guess I’ll start that practice next year.

Living on the Bayou Teche, I enjoy an abundance of nature just outside my back door.  I have seen an eagle, a pelican, and commonly a blue heron fly across the bayou.  I am lucky or blessed, whichever way you look at it.  I wish, however, for more.  Don’t we all?  I don’t wish for more Christmas tins, but I do wish for more time.  Longing is a part of life.  It keeps us hoping for the future.  It keeps us making resolutions.  My 2011 resolution is to write more.  I thought what better way to make myself do it than to have a blog.  So here I am putting words on the Internet and hoping others will want to read them.

I have been inspired by my abundance to share.  And I hope that in some small way that I may inspire others, too. 

In the fall of 2008, I had a poem published in the Aurorean.  I reprint it here as it speaks to nature’s abundance and human longing.

Nature’s No Fool

Nature never fools around with just being decorative.
                                                                                                         –Alice Munro

She remembers the woman in the movie who put her hand
into the yellow petal of the skunk lily to feel its heat.
It is the heat that attracts the insects, she said.
Heat attracts,
or perhaps it is the stench.  Animal instincts
cross the boundaries
of good behavior.

Today, she watches as the bumblebee lights
on her t-shirt, sniffing at the yellow,
disturbing her writing space.
Oblivious,
he primps his antennae, then flies
away disappearing into the breeze.

In fall, she picks the satsumas–
bright orange ornaments so heavy
they crack the tree’s core. She peels
loose flesh to taste the sweet gift.

Nature never fools
around.  Nature knows what it knows.
And sometimes
when the stars fill the sky
she wishes to be one with the knowing.
She will lie on her back and wait
for the waking.

Satsumas are a citrus fruit grown in South Louisiana.  The fruit ripens in the fall with the first report card and tastes somewhat like a tangerine, only better.