Heather S. Ingemar's Blog, page 2
July 7, 2015
Little Things
We disappeared this afternoon for a little while.
A change of pace.
We’d been to the dam many times before,
Nothing special.
But today —
— I saw beauty in all the little things.
June 29, 2015
Bloom
I have come to understand that God is more infinite than a mere rulebook.
He is just calling us to be the highest, most authentic versions of ourselves.
“Come Boldly,” He says… But in order to do so, we cannot be anything than what He Made us to be.
No pretenses at perfection.
No hiding.
How can you love someone who doesn’t share their heart with you?
Be like the flowers and Bloom —
— whether you have four petals instead of six
— whether you’re more pink instead of purple
— whether you grow more to one side instead of straight up
Seek the Sun and Bloom.
June 27, 2015
Figure 8s
It is over 100 degrees in the shade, but I have a few moments, and so I grab my gear and slip out with the bike. Even with the heat, 55 feels good, and I cruise on out into my favorite stretch of forest under the guise of getting to know my little bike better.
This bit of road reminds me of the forests of my childhood, fond memories of spring and summer days spent in my first car, freedom to roam, the people I cared about along for the ride. Good times filled with hopeful futures, dreams, and happy adventures.
The wind presses against my chest and I lean into the curves, pushing the throttle a bit to revel in the slingshot effect as I straighten out. I find myself daydreaming about the travels I’ll be able to take one day, and smiling about the roads to look forward to. Hope is a beautiful thing, and I realize I’ve lived too long without it.
The miles fall away, and the worries of the day with them. Soaring over the pavement, I find peace and joy.
I’m suddenly at my turn-around spot, and with a happy heart I turn my wheels toward Home. Because that’s the best part of every adventure.
June 25, 2015
The Smell of Wheat
After three years and about five months
(but who’s counting?)
waylaid with two legs and a cage,
Two wheels are under me again.
She is charming and spunky,
a dainty little princess,
and we fit together like two puzzle pieces
Soaking in the dusk
The smell of newly-ripened wheat
The texture of asphalt
Creating our own wind
as we fly home.
June 22, 2015
Nostalgic, Beautiful Relics
“You’ve seen the mountains
The green fields of home,
You’ve gone many miles,
And your tires are worn…
You worked hard every season,
A lifetime spent at thirty-five,
A heavy load hauled in the back,
The wind and weather stole your shine….”
-from ‘Old Farm Truck’
June 19, 2015
Making Pies
Making pies always seems to bring me clarity. I’ve done it often since Grandma taught me as a teen; apple, blackberry, pumpkin, mincemeat, and today, a raspberry pie and a kiwi-apple pie.
You never know how a pie is going to turn out until it is finished. Following the recipe to the letter can only get you so far. Could be you got the crust perfect, but the filling was spiced too much. Or the filling was just so, and the crust would have been except you worked it just a touch too long. Or, the darn thing was too juicy and now it looks… wonky. Still tasty, though.
Other times, you panic when you look in the oven, remembering some ingredient you forgot… And the pie turns out exceptionally tasty regardless. It turns out to be the Best Pie you’ve ever made.
The dough feels good under my hands, the rolling pin, a comfort. With the soft morning light streaming into my kitchen, I remember all the pies I made with Grandma looking over my shoulder. I remember all the pies I made for friends, for feasts, for celebrations and comfort food. I remember moments spent with loved ones, relationships that lasted and those that didn’t, and all the decisions therein.
You never know how life is going to turn out until it is finished. No matter what you do, you never know.
We’re all just baking in the kitchen, doing the best with the ingredients we have.
May it turn out to be tasty. :-)
June 16, 2015
The Eleventh
It was the eleventh, and the eleventh had always tended to suck since my son passed away. I had planned to be busy, because busy hands make a light heart as Grandma used to say, only, at this moment, ‘busy’ was floating aimlessly on the green-blue mineral lake with the sun sparkling off gentle ripples. Stately pines and cedars rose all around to touch a perfect blue sky, and I couldn’t have envisioned a more beautiful day if I had tried.
But then you floated over on your inner tube, the sun making your hair shine just so, and your smile reached your eyes. I really noticed, this time, really noticed, and I was taken aback by the loveliness of carefree joy on your too-often-stressed face.
You should smile more often. We all should.
Your hand found mine, and I smiled, too, because you didn’t let go, and I didn’t want you to. My heart floated, buoyant with joy for the simple pleasure of touch that says, I’m here, and I want to be here with you. Things began to unravel inside me, all the wrappings that I’d used to keep my heart from truly feeling fell away. The lingering touch of past sadness drifted to other skies like a rare cloud, and this eleventh begin to color all those to come with a sun-kissed happiness that had been too long absent.
I squeezed your hand.
You smiled even bigger, radiantly beautiful, and squeezed back.
Tagged: acceptance, happiness, summer, vignette, water
June 1, 2015
River Jump
I stood upon the rock, and the water looked even further down than it had when I watched others leap a few moments before. Heat seeped into my toes from the boulder overlooking the river.
“Go on! Jump! You can do it!” My friends cheered me on from the sidelines. I looked over and caught my husband’s eyes. Even despite the distance, I could see the softness, the encouragement, in them. It bolstered me. I looked down again.
I could see the small rock shelf just under the surface, and see where it dropped off into…. nothing. Dark water. Unseen depths. As I stood there, my mind began to ponder the existence of sea monsters, and adrenaline pumped into my fingers, making them tingle. Completely ridiculous, being so far inland, but even tiny shadows appeared convincing as evidence.
I hesitated. Logically, I knew I was only about six feet above the water’s surface… but with each passing moment, it grew into a cliff of incredible height. All the negative emotions and put downs I’d ever faced rose to the surface:
You can’t.
You shouldn’t.
You’re going to hurt yourself and drown.
Women your size don’t wear bikinis to go swimming, and they don’t play these games. You’re disgusting.
You’re a horrible swimmer.
How dare you think you can do anything.
I was suddenly facing each and every one of my personal demons, and they were clawing at me, stealing my breath and my nerve. I shrank a little, and looked over at my husband, and our friends, at their smiling and supportive faces. It had been a wonderful, amazing day at the river, playing with the kids and enjoying the sunshine. I smiled back at them, cracked a joke about already having my Last Will drawn up. Everyone laughed. The demons shrieked, flinging a lifetime of “can’ts,” “shouldn’ts,” and “don’ts” in my face.
The serene, blue-gray river water sloshed at the rock I stood upon.
My palms came together in a short prayer, I touched my thumbs to my nose and closed my eyes.
No More, I said. I slammed the terrible voices back into the furthest depths of my mind, threw up every wall of defense I had.
Silence.
And I flung myself off the cliff, a leap of faith and triumph.
Tagged: self-doubt, self-esteem, Snake River, vignette, water
May 24, 2015
And She Danced
Firelight flickered from the brazier, warming the faces of those gathered around it.
The conversation lulled, and my fingers found a tune upon my strings. Minor key, haunting, slow… an anonymous piece called “Bear Dance” from the 12th and 13th centuries.
She got up from where she had been sitting to my left, the flames framing her form as she set down her drink. Her hands lifted into the air, scribing graceful circles upon the dark. She spun, her hips keeping time with the rhythm of my strings, thrum thrum thrummmm (pause) thrum thrum thrummm.
And she danced. Around and around we went, her body circling, spinning, against the play of my fingers on my Renaissance guitar. Variations found their way under my hands, and she met me note for note, twist for voluptuous, serpentine twist. Body and song, sensual and vibrant there under the stars.
The song wound down to a gentle end, and she dutifully followed it down to her knees. Her palms came together in front of her eyes, breathing thanks, speaking joy.
And only the dance of flame and shadow could compare to her and I.
Tagged: bellydance, campfire, dance, music, renaissance guitar, sca, Society for Creative Anachronism, ukulele, vignette
May 20, 2015
Seen
I see understanding in her eyes:
Somehow,
Someway,
She looks past all
the mindful curtains
the careful walls
the safety defenses
Past the masks.
Somehow,
Someway,
She sees.
And I can breathe again.
Tagged: authenticity, poetry, Relationships
