Proper Perspective

Until recently, I had been obsessing over things that seemed, at the time, vitally important to me...

-- Like why a painter boldly asks $4000 for a painting, while a poet, whose book may represent months or years of sweat, struggle and precision, for whom each poem is a carefully-constructed word painting, feels sheepish asking $10.
-- Like whether the inventor of “Chia Obama” truly considers her/his creation a “tribute to America” as the commercial suggests.
-- Like where I’ll find the time to grade 3 stacks of papers, write 2 exams, conduct 2 productive revision workshops, and evaluate 16 research projects.
-- Like whether to paint my living room/dining room buttercup or sandstone.
-- Like the perfect proportions of French onion soup and glazed apricots in which to stew a pot roast.

Then, something miraculous happened. As is her wont, the Universe gave me two swift kicks in the arse (because one is never quite enough) to realign my priorities.

First, She delivered most of our two families safely to South Dakota for Thanksgiving. Ray and I got together at his oldest sister’s with both of his sisters, their spouses, his nephew, niece, and niece’s spouse equivalent for a lovely, warm, evening of stories, laughter, amazing food, and excellent company. Then the next night, Ray, Mom, all three of my brothers, two of our four children, various spouse-equivalents, nieces and nephews, friends, and a pack of doggie cousins, all converged at the Row for a potluck that would have made Martha Stewart prison-green with envy. I was especially thankful my brother and nephew hadn't brought the Nerf rifles (we're still finding Nerf darts in unexpected places, from last year). And the next night, both families gathered at the bar in Little Town for a night of joyous music provided by Ray’s band, and some incredible interpretive dance (including my little brother’s agile PeeWee Stomp).

Next (and this was the BIG kick), the Universe let me witness the birth of my daughter’s first baby. She gently walked my daughter through a brief, routine, drug-free labor & delivery—not quite like going off into the trees to drop the baby out, but pert near. She gave my daughter a patient man as in love with the baby as she is. New babies are always miraculous…nay, stupefying. But I was right there for this one, mere inches away, when the new little human literally popped out. And Mom was there, too--we had four generations of sturdy determination at work in the room. In the face of that feat of human endurance, that sheer will to life, that instant of pure radiant love when my daughter first held her son, everything else fell away in utter insignificance. There IS nothing else.

So, thanks to the Universe and Her perfect order, I am calm and grateful again. I have put things back in their proper perspective, at least for now. I will sit this evening and finish knitting a baby sweater without so much as a twinge of paper-grading remorse. I will stare out the greenhouse windows at the eight spring peachicks who, despite the odds, are now full-grown. I will buy a Chia Obama. I will keep toiling over poems because poetry is beautiful and graceful and because, as Native Americans once believed, words have the power to make things happen. I will leave my walls ecru. And, when I start to slip back into my obsessions with trivia, I will pause and recall the perfect wisdom of the human body, the unstoppable creative power of love, and the jaw-dropping, indescribable spectacle of a brand new human being emerging into the world.