It's time for a Sunday Favorite, a repost of a blog post from the past. (The Blog Party is hosted by Chari, over at Happy to Design. Click the Sunday Favorites logo in the lefthand sidebar to join!) I've chosen one from about eight years ago, called Moving Day.
We helped Lauree and Toby move last Thursday. Their new home is beautiful. I am so thrilled for Lauree. She really is the kind of woman who loves being a home-maker, and stay-at-home mommy. I spent most of the day over there holding Abby, who was put off by the strange surroundings. I felt kind of useless, but Laurie said not, that it was a great relief to her that I could hold the baby and let her get things done and direct the moving in. RC's mood in the forepart of the day was abysmal. So, of course, I wrote a poem!
How can there be so much in the world to yell about?
He shouts his way through the hours.
I mutter, because if he hears me
there'll be one more thing to roar about.
But then it's finished.
The boxes are stacked in the garage,
the furniture is helter-skelter in the rooms,
and we lounge, chatting,
my head on his chest,
staring at the U-Haul parked at the curb,
and suddenly I realize:
This day was perfect.
And while we're doing poems. This happened a couple of days later. True story!
Standing with one foot on the top of the ladder,
the other swinging free in the air,
my arms stretched over my head,
I squint as tiny, grey Chiclets of old paint
rain from my putty knife's edge
to my face.
I have spent so much time in the sun this year
that I am as dappled as the earth under a shade tree,
tawny shoulders sprinkled with russet spots.
My legs are sheathed in short denim
and a long summer's tan.
Yesterday, a man in a shiny white pick-up
swung into the driveway and proposed marriage.
You weren't here,
but I told you about it later and we laughed together.
Today, back on the ladder,
I have leaned around the corner just in time
to see you walk chicken-style
the length of the scaffolding.