Banging & Clanging

The sounds of my summer orchestra

Where I am standing this week.

Dear Starlight, 

It is a beautiful day. The cicadas are shrilling, and the air is dry-hot with a breeze. I am struggling with the question “Can this be enough?” Do I need to make an adventure of everything? Are hanging my clothes in their closet and putting away the dishes sacrilegious on a day like today? I asked my sister this morning, “Can the joy I feel being alive be enough?” “For whom?” she asked back. 

Yesterday morning, I walked through a field and noticed that my goldenrod (anything I love, I put “my” in front of indicating belonging) was on the cusp of blooming. This seasonal chartreuse tone suggests the turn of high summer to summer sun setting. For me, for many years, this has been a difficult transition period: not enoughness and too muchness. Goodbyes and hellos all smashed together. High intensity, like band cymbals smashing. 

Goodbye summer. Goodbye Summer. CRASHHHHH! CRASHHHHHHH! I fall down. Hello fall. 

We may share some seasons, but we each have our own life cycles. This week is the week my sister Summer died within the same week in different years I was married, my son Sunny was christened, my sister had her first mental breakdown, my work projects launched, my house was ready to move into, I moved away from or back to Martha’s Vineyard, I started school, I started a school, I moved to NYC. Goodbyes and hellos, cymbals crashing, celebrations and calamities colliding. Each year, this week, my muscles brace for the crash and clang.

I speed into this week. Work is high-intensity for me now, running, wrapping up, and about to leap into a last-minute and desperate gasping Labor Day rest before the clock ticks and I suddenly find myself shifting into September schedules again.

Hello, fall. I stumble and tumble.

Today is wildly beautiful. “Can the joy I feel being alive be enough?” 

Yesterday, when I noticed the time of year slashed in gold across the field, I noticed I didn’t have any splashy plans this week. No big adventures, no beach getaways, no getaways. Yesterday I reflected on how, at work, we're restarting the fellowship this week. But unlike before, I am not wearing so many hats that I could be mistaken for Medusa. Instead of running around like a mad woman, I am walking in a field of gold. 

Today, in anticipation of the crashing cymbals, I will put away my dishes, hang my clothes, and prepare my most celebratory party attire. When the parade of memories marches by me this week, I will wave hello and goodbye in my golden gown.

What is changing this season? It might be me because the joy I feel being alive is becoming enough. Because I can appreciate the bang and clang of my life as part of an orchestra. Because I don’t always need a getaway. Because I love being where I am now, here in this open blooming field.

Me standing in Sicily this week, with my two sisters behind me and my other sister missing as she was recovering from her first hospitalization. Three years later, this week, I stood in this church holding my three month son under holy water. My sister missing having died a few days before. We sprinkled her body into the ocean making it forever holy water. I often forget my wedding anniversary but never forget her ever after anniversary.