Sunday, August 2, 2009

Not up to me

Bring on the dancing horses

I've had enough.

Still "infectious," still sick, I cast aside all this "rest" to retreat into the things that will make me heal the most: my children, and the lake.

Elise at the county fair - ride em cowgirl!

Saturday night, I took my girls to the fair, walked for hours, looking at the beautiful lights and all the animals.

The dizzying array of lights on the ferris wheel - our favorite

We saw the sights, road the rides, ate the cotton candy.

Not sure what Elise was thinking here, but that horse she chose does look pretty ominous

Sophie on the merry go round

Elise stuffing herself with sugar! Cotton Candy! Yum!

Along the way, we stopped to smell the flowers:


One of my favorites: the Tiger Lilly

And tonight, Sophie and I headed out to the lake, just the two of us, a mom & daughter date night. We floated along together in my kayak and witnessed the most spectacular sunset. Fish jumped, but otherwise, the lake was smooth as glass.

While floating along in a peaceful bliss, Sophie and I came across a young raccoon shaking on the shore. Clearly sick with distemper or some kind of disease, we floated up to it, his feable human-like hands grasping a branch, shaking.

"Oh, mom! He's so cute! Can't we save him!" Sophie pleaded.

This was an opportunity to teach my eldest daughter the one of the hardest lessons of life: it's not up to us.

I thought about this in reference to myself. This infection, getting better, getting worse: it's not up to me, if I lie in bed 24/7 or if I live my life. What will be will be.

It's not up to me. So I let go.

I return to the doctor on Wednesday and will learn then if I need another surgery to clear up infections from the first surgery.

Intervening is sometimes notthe answer.

Sometimes we must just let nature take its course, and live out our lives the best we can, do right by those we can.

But in the meantime, I'm gonna do the things I love, and rejoice in the beauty all around. Life is short; the life of a raccoon, even shorter. It's no coincidence when we first spotted the raccoon, he was limping along weakly, making his way to rest on the shore facing the setting sun. One beautiful final view, indeed.


  1. You did it again -- choked me up. You sure have had more than your fair share of rough times lately. Beauty is indeed healing! What you show on your blog always works wonders for me!

    Be well, Shannon

  2. Thank you Kathleen. You are always too kind.


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