onward & upward

onward & upward
Originally uploaded by Julia Wickes.

There really isn't anything to write about. Spring here continues to be understated but still much appreciated. About 33.33% of trees are green, 33.33% just beginning to bud, and 33.33% are still totally bare. I put Esme in the wrap carrier today and decided we had to go somewhere. Since our apartment complex faces an unpleasantly busy street, I took us behind businesses to a new pastry shop that just opened up in a strip mall across from the Family Dollar. It was a Panera knock-off.

Then we went and looked around at the Family Dollar. Then we went to Sav-a-Lot next door and I thought it might be a good idea to pick up a few small things I could carry home: avacados and a three-pack of that spearmint gum that is packaged like medicine. But when I got to the line there was someone with an overflowing cart ahead of me and only one cashier working slowly, so I put the stuff back, and headed home, past Little Caesar's Pizza, and through the blacktop parking lots of a bank, a movie theater, and a car wash.

Sometimes I wonder if Esme knows the difference between a walk in beautiful surroundings and ugly ones. I can't tell. When I take her on walks at St Mary's College, for example, I feel as if I'm exposing her to beauty and assisting in the development of her aesthetic sensibilities. But that's probably my imagination. What I can tell for sure is that she picks up on my own moods and responses to our surroundings. So, for her sake, no matter where I am, I find myself maintaining a cheerful disposition and an eye for beauty. I snapped this shot on our way home.

turtles without shells

Sometimes Jeff and I jokingly call Esme our little turtle, for the way she pokes her head forward to look around, like a little turtle poking its head out of its shell. Only, she's so soft and little, that the analogy breaks down, because she doesn't have anything resembling a shell, so we have to call her our little turtle-without-a-shell.

I just went to visit the Schroedel family in Chicago, and had a wonderful time. Our babies were fascinated just to sit and observe each other while chewing, pulling, and manipulating various toys set before them. Jenny kept reflecting on how pliable babies are at this stage of life--that a toy could be taken out of their hand without protest, willfulness, or an attempt to control the situation. Their expressions just say: "Oh, this is what is happening right now; the toy is going. I'll wait and see what happens next." They might even watch while the toy is given to the other baby, and feel no flicker of jealousy or competition.

As long as what happens next does not involve hunger, or an overdue diaper change, fatigue, or rolling over and getting an arm trapped underneath the abdomen, then all is well. Natalie and Esme (the yellow blur in the picture above) seemed purely open and interested in each other as fellow creatures. Esme, being two months older, was slightly more aggressive at reaching out and grabbing Natalie's face with all five fingers, which I know from experience can really hurt, so I had to put her out of face-squeezing distance. But besides that, there was no conflict whatsoever.

It's amazing to me to think of the fact that everyone starts out more or less like this. I'm not saying we don't have inherited hang-ups or a "fallen nature" and all of that blah blah blah. But we do start out rather shell-less and open to others, open to love, and capable of making observations without knee-jerk value judgments. With Esme in particular, who is only seven months old, I can honestly say that I've tried my utmost to surround her with only love and comfort and keep hurts and unmet needs to a minimum insofar as I've been able, around the clock. I measure out small struggles for her, like allowing her to get frustrated in her first attempts to crawl and move (I won't intervene despite how piteous her complaints can sound), but beyond that, I'm at her beck and call. I know too that my parents did the same for me in my first few months and years on this earth; like Esme I was sandwiched within the hot house warmth of parental affection-- no shell required.

But somewhere between an impatient preschool teacher, getting ostracized at a fourth grade sleepover, cut down by a mean boy in middle school, an overheard insult in high school, a series of unrequited infatuations through teens and early twenties, job rejections, and weird inter-office politics at the jobs I did have, a shell became necessary, and was built and tweaked and perfected. I fancy myself adept at keeping social vulnerability to a minimum. Only, now I'm realizing that the shell is a nuisance and hindrance. It often hinders me from being lighthearted and uninhibited in a group, and it's not good within marriage either. It makes me say shell-like things and deflect others in a shell-like way. I don't want to be this way. I'm not saying I want to go back to a babyish state of unhardened openness either-- I'm not idealizing infancy. But I'm thinking that there is something to be said, after a lifetime of shell building, to begin voluntarily learning to relinquish the shell and make a conscious decision to let other people see me as often as I am able to, without fear.

it was a charlie brown bright week

stark
Originally uploaded by Julia Wickes.

"Bright Week" is what we (Orthodox) call the week following Easter. But here in northern Indiana, the brightness was a bit slow in coming, and in fact did not really come until the end of the week so named. Easter day itself was cold and wintry, and in the days following we had a cosmic slurpie dump down upon all the timidly emerging, in-progress, spring-green, growing things.

Pascha was still wonderful, memorable, and profound as usual this year, and it was delightful to take Esme to her first late night / early morning Pascha service. She slept through the entire vigil and most of the liturgy in her car seat, beneath her colorful quilt, and awoke--as if on cue--in time for communion. Then on Easter day we had friends over and talked and ate all afternoon until the evening.

But a few days later, during the bright week throw-back-to-winter blitz, I found myself indoors with Esme. I decided was not worth bundling her up to go anywhere, and yet we probably both needed to get out of the house. Sometimes my mood and Esme's mood melds into one and I can't tell if I'm making her cranky or vice versa. But we were both kind of deflated that day, so I did something I only do rarely, and sat us both down in front of the television to take refuge in a dvd: A Charlie Brown Christmas. Even though I've been watching A Charlie Brown Christmas at least once a year since childhood, I've never realized all the layers of humor and meaning in the dialogue and plot. Charlie Brown confides to Linus that even though it's Christmas, he feels depressed, and Linus says, "Charlie Brown, you're the only person I know that can turn Christmas into a problem." I can totally symptathize; I'm always making non-problem days and seasons into problems. But in any case, by the time it got to the final scene when Linus reads the scriptural account of Christ's birth on the school auditorium stage, I was melting with love for this little film, and thanking the stars above for the miracle of its inclusion in the pop culture canon.

I felt that it was strange behavior to watch a Christmas cartoon during Bright Week, but with the snow outside, and the desire to counteract it with the cozy mood of Christmas, I tried not to overthink the anomaly. But then it turned out to be unexpectedly profound, because it reminded me of the theological connection between the feast days, which usually gets lost for me because of the long gaps between each, and the change of seasons, and life events that happen in between. The Nativity icon depicts Christ being born in a cave to symbolize a tomb; he was born to die. Hearing Linus read the Christmas account right after Pascha made it all connect in my heart and mind for once, and I actually shed a few tears.

"Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death by death, and upon those in the tomb bestowing life."

bright monday

Taken from my bedroom window the day after Easter.

we'll be staying

midwest athletic equipment i
Originally uploaded by Julia Wickes.

I should probably be reflecting on the bridegroom services of Holy Week right now, but I have to make an important announcement: Jeff was admitted to the History of Christianity doctoral program at Notre Dame. So, we'll be staying in South Bend, Indiana. A year ago, I would never have imagined how happy I would be to receive this news. I was consumed with criticism of this town, and would not even consider staying longer than the two years that it would take for Jeff to finish his masters here.

The town hasn't changed, and my initial criticisms still apply, but they've been painted over by an altered vision. Having a baby has absorbed my focus and drawn it inward, which I suppose is a natural and common experience of motherhood. My eye has also learned how to be selective, finding beauty in orindary midwestern scenery and blue collar town life. I have also learned that the reality of friendship in any location is that it takes more time than you think, and I would be so sad to leave our friends here and start all over somewhere else.

So, we'll be staying, and I'm really grateful. Jeff will be moving on at a wonderful school, as I think he deserves to do, and, well, go Irish!