A Different Sort of Life

The Singing Man        A Christmas Story        He was already sitting in front of the post office when we pulled into the parking lot. All I could see was his head and a large piece of plastic draped over his body. Who was this person, and why was he sitting there? Was he going to ask us for money? I was a bit nervous about taking Ian into the post office, and I didn't really need a distraction on my way in. I briefly considered coming back later, another day even, then decided to take my chances. We just needed to mail a small package and purchase some stamps. That shouldn’t be too hard. I prayed that the line would be short but knew that the chances of that on this December day were pretty slim.           Ian and I got out of the car and began to walk, Ian holding firmly onto my right arm with both hands, his version of sighted guide*. Passing the flagpole, I began to hear the sounds of the man's ac...

Step by Step: A Bittersweet Life          (This story was written in 1999 as I approached my 50th birthday. I like it because it really gives you an idea of who I am and about this part of my journey.)            Mothering my younger son, Ian Christopher, has been a call to let go of a dream, yet continue to hold a vision. It has presented me a life that I have come to look upon as bittersweet. I find it interesting that “bittersweet” is the particular word that emerges here, since it was always my favorite kind of chocolate, both of the opposing qualities being necessary for its perfection.          Ian's was a beautiful birth in Takilma Clinic’s birthing room, where he joined me, his dad Leo, and his 7-year-old brother Ry on a warm summer morning in 1989. The garden was reaching its peak, and soon after Ian joined us, we planted a redwood tree for each boy in a special family ceremon...