Dearest Great B—,

Please, take me back. I should never have left you. I’m sorry we fought. This is killing me.

It’s me, by the way, your Lady L—, who still loves you, now more than ever.

I have been so wrong, so wrong, indeed. I can’t tell you how my heart has ached for you. All this time, what feels like 249 years, your position across the pond from me has been too far. I’ve tried everything to hate you.

I know, the tea, that was unkind, but it had to go, and the harbor was such an easy dumping ground. You would have done the same if I had ignored all your messages over and over and over, again. Not one reply. Seriously? What were you thinking? I would just stand around in my own little harbor, not lifting a finger? You had to know I would not go on being ignored. I had to get your attention. Honestly, you must have seen that coming.

And there’s the loss of C—but that was never going to happen long distance, anyway, you must know. I gave you a gift to abandon C— for F—who also, was never yours, so come to think of it, yeah, maybe you have somewhat of a grievance on that distraction.

But hey—remember—we worked together for all kinds of skirmishes among our friends and not-so-friendlies, and you’ll say you always did more and paid the price, and maybe you did or maybe you didn’t. I don’t know if I was stronger because I let you weaken your pompous, overinflated ego or if I was just made for this, destined to be the stronger of the two, but I digress. Of course, you know how I can be so excessively full of things to say, and shouldn’t we think of those times of togetherness? Yes, you should think of how good that made you feel to be with me, again, if not in control, in communion.

Of course, you’ll want to quibble over your domestic troubles with roommates, but they never wanted you. (Not ever.) S—and NI—and I—cut from the same cloth, they are with patterns that never matched your crown. And how in the world could I have sided with you?

You see how bad it is when we are divided from each other? I just need you, so I guess I have to let bygones be bygones, here. Can’t you do the same?

Take me back. I’ll give you everything this time.

I don’t need my independent me, nor should I be trusted to run my own world, as it is nearing a crumbling state. You have to rescue me from myself.

So, won’t you take me back? Haven’t I shown you—and the world—that I can’t do this anymore? Ever since that freezing day in January that forced us indoors, Hell comes with each rising sun. Spiraling harm, one dumb move against my own, my thoughts, my words, my lives, my freedoms, my soul. Really? You’ll just stand there on your little island. No help at all?

Take me back and rule me. I have failed to live up to the hype. This whole “go at it on your own” thing just kills the very thing that made life free to be what it could have been.

Yours, ever so sincerely,

Lady L (who loves you and needs you, now more than ever)

P.S. Please, take me back.

Round and smooth and unbreakable
Around my neck, the pearls rest.

Full and warm and immutable
Within my heart, the secrets nest.

Calm and dull and regrettable
Behind my thoughts, the memories move.

Bold and quick and irrepressible
Inside my words, the facts prove.

Kind and true and innocent
From my courage, the wrong ends.

Tough and fierce and hardened
Against my fears, the truth defends.

Out the window of the coffee shop
where we played chess and attracted
attention from a prodigy-turned-teacher of the game
because the pieces were set up all
kinds of wrong, I noticed the flower lady

arranging a whole new host of mason jars
in the little stand made of pallet wood
with a little chalkboard in the front, framed,
she unpacked boxes and boxes and boxes of flowers

under the chalk-printed sign to say
you can help yourself to flowers
by the pint ($10) or by the jar ($20), conveniently
purchased in the palm of your hand
with your phone–go Venmo–

or from the cold, hard cash in your weather-worn wallet,
change purse, or wrinkled up in your pocket
of the button-fly Levi’s you stole from your older brother,
cut, and washed over and over until they looked just so.

Did you know there are bunches of only sunflowers?

Fuschia gerbers mixed with black-eyed Susans,
giant goldenrod, orange butterfly weed, spiderwort
with indigo tongues stuck out to stick it to the passersby
who won’t partake, get jeers from blue phlox, bee balm,
and milkweed–those polite ones, too–but the sunflowers.

Sunflowers have their own shelf, you know? They stand out.

Round, full of tears from Heaven,
given to pinkish hues when first we wake,
clouds shape the day, do they not?

Blocking the sun for the rain they make
above crouched travelers tied up in knots
of umbrellas, scarves, boots and trenchcoats,

A silver lining can be found like the final note
that rings even after the symphony fades
walking home in step with drops softly singing on.

Ring went the bell that interrupted
our first conversation in the coffee shop
too short and overdue and underbaked
ideas shared over apple chai tea
while who we were floated near the surface
of the shallow shadows under the live oak trees
Can we go back to Montrose to try again for the sake of second chances, maybe?

Quiet is the sound of the feeling I get
when I remember how you could draw undeniably
gazing eyes you had never seen
before they met you on that mid-fall midday
between the place to go after the place now gone
and then the future headed in front of me
Would it be wise to get in the car wishing for a kiss or replaying how you pushed the chair in for me?

Chimes overhead, faded melody behind,
singing a song heard that night from the patio breeze
Stars, twinkling, stars leading one step away from there,
one step closer to here with me
Did I miss something planted in the words talking between the palm trees?

Would it be fun wondering how that sound
surrounded two hearts in love before we
were we, connected through silent singing
made to move the crowd into separate seas?

Things to Leave at Home
That You Won’t Need at College

They won’t take much time, money, or heartache (well, maybe just a little),
but they’ll make your campus transition much easier. Scissors might be helpful.

By Sarah Campbell

I bet many of my students’ parents will have read Ron Leiber and Tara Sigel Bernard’s NYT article about how to go beyond the essential supply list to prepare for academic life. The advice would help any family feel better prepared for such a big life change.

Maybe you are a student, and you are thinking that you need a list addressed to you. I couldn’t help but think of you all because I will teach 84 freshmen this fall semester who are going to need to shift away from the “collecting things to pack” notion and move toward a “leave it behind” mindset before summer’s end. Has anyone told you that?

Setting yourself up for disappointment comes from making promises that never will happen. What if these “great expectations” could be avoided? Before you drive-fly-bike-walk here to the university, consider this list of items to cut. Look at it like a pre-college challenge. This is not a test, no points are awarded or deducted, it will not affect your overall GPA, and best of all, no one but you will ever know. If last year’s wisdom is right, you’ll win. If my intel is wrong, well, at least you’ll win the art of traveling light.

Go ahead, just leave it behind. Trust me.

1. Plan your archive.
   Start by going through the special trinkets, souvenirs, mementos, or artifacts collected from happy times. Fill up a decorated box, stuff your favorite bag, or stack them on a bookcase. Display them proudly or keep them tucked away, knowing there is a place for them. You won’t need them where you are going. They won’t even fit in. Let them rest in the nest while you fly high.
2. Push forward against the pull backward.
   Invite your family to create a room that is no longer just yours. This room needs to be open for guests or used as an office or available for any creative function under the sun. But it doesn’t need to be yours anymore. And you are not coming back. You will visit home, but it is not your home anymore. It is your family’s home. Your future is your home, now. You are building your own home one new experience at a time. You have a new room waiting for you. Go on. Move in.
3. Give to future you.
   Email your professors. No, not when you need their help three days before the final exam. Now. Yes, now. This summer. Just a hello. Make a connection. Eventually, these mentors will write you letters of recommendation, share internship opportunities, and support your research. Maybe one day, you will want to hire them! Did you ever think of it that way? You are a recruiter now. You are sizing up your faculty to see who you might want to approach when you are running your own company. Connect now and keep the conversation going.
4. Avoid dust.
   You don’t need to pack so much stuff. Your car is loaded too heavy for the speed you want to go. Downsize now or deal with a lot of dust later. Stephen King in his book On Writing recommends cutting at least 10% when you revise your work. Start there. For every 10 items you are cramming into the suitcase, toss one out.
5. Think agility over anchors.
   You have to break up with them. If you are still reading, it is because I did not tell you the truth until I was sure you could handle it. You made it this far, so you are ready to understand that the current relationship you are in will never survive college. And think about it, do you really want the great love of your life to be characterized with the same description we used for those who made it through a war? Don’t survive it. Let it go. Build a life of beauty, not survival.
6. Make peace.
   Tell them you are sorry. Once you go, you will never get to say it and mean it and feel it like you can now. Receiving the redemption of forgiveness does have an expiration date. Don’t miss it before you head out of town (for good). Be courageous now. Go to them, apologize to them, forgive them, and forgive yourself. Done? Okay. Now, you are ready to start packing your bags. You leave well packed, but with no baggage. Crucial.
7. Step up.
   You are on all these group chats and threads, right? Offer support to someone at some point between now and when you get to campus. When you give, you realize that you are not weak, but very, very strong. You will need to remember this truth early and often your first semester. You are strong, and you can give to others. When you do, it is your soul overflowing its gesture of goodness to the world. That act of kindness recharges you beyond any energy drink ever could.And, by the way, if you are scared about making new friends, joining a sorority or fraternity, or picking a major, just jump in. See what happens. It will probably be good. And grab someone willing to do it, too. Do it with them.
8. I give in here. Keep just one thing.
   You get one picture—or locket—or sweatshirt—or wrench—or playlist. One thing. Pick it, keep it, and use it to keep you moving forward in college. The minute it drags you down like an anchor, seriously, send it somewhere that needs to remain unmoved. That’s not for you. You’ve got to stay in motion.

Writing instructors pay close attention to what their first-year students do and don’t say from August to December each year. After the first day, when freshmen share what they are trying so hard to cling to, I dread the pain that is coming. Hearts break and mend and break again, often within one week’s time. The signs are surprisingly easy to see. They will eventually have to give up all that came before or watch as it gives up on them. New page. New chapter. New reflection in the mirror. I want to say something, but it is too late to tell them to let go once they are with me in our classroom. At that point, the only voice they can hear is their own, and they don’t yet know who they really are. It’s a “Two roads diverged” kind of moment.

So, how will you choose? Take it or leave it? The key lesson before backing out of the driveway for the last time is that you will never go in reverse again. The direction is forward. The idea that you can hold tight to all-that-was is a myth. That’s not how this works, and believing in the myth will hurt. A lot. It will hit you so hard, so fast, and so deeply later in college when the world of comfort is not there to help you as it is this summer at home. Now is the time to hurt less with more support. Now. Do it now. Right now. Time to move on, to say goodbye.

Take a note away, Mama,
And does the song stop singing?

No, of course, not…
Unless the note was the key to end all keys, and then, well,…

Then, yes, of course, yes.
The note in its absence would render the song unsingable.

Put a note in right here,
And does the song stop singing, now?

No, of course not…
Unless the new note was a sound too big for their own britches

Then, yes, of course, yes.
The note with its presence would, like a tsunami, drown the town and all its inhabitants.

Change a note from one to another,
And does the song stop singing?

No, of course not…
Unless the change was the accidental death of one to be surprised by another

Then, yes, of course, yes.
The note, with its opportunistic slide into the vacancy of the ordained,
would cheapen integrity, like a paring knife cutting away more than just the peel,
until the song, too, dies a death mourned by all who sang, believed, and blossomed.

Blend two notes together,
And does the song stop singing?

No, of course not…
Unless the chord of two brings way for a third, and then, well…

Then, yes, of course, yes.
When you arrived, everyone held their breath, the songs stopped singing,
like the moment when instruments wait, wait, wait—
silence before the conductor’s baton, up from its peak, crashes down to the first beat—
not a sound could enter while we all took it in,
the fullness of your sweet music, the sound of freedom.

You are here.

And from the moment you arrived until forever’s forever has come and gone by,
nothing can stop the songs from singing your sweet music, the sound of freedom.

When my grandmother was my age, 49, the year was 1972. I was not yet born, but my older brother Michael was.

My grandmother knew then that my dad had found and married my mom, someone who could love and be loved in return. She witnessed how happy a home they could make for their child, and eventually, my grandmother would witness the same happy home for my younger brother Drew and me, too.

It was not easy, but my grandmother had survived living through The Great Depression, sharecropping in Oklahoma, serving telegrams to soldiers in the Second World War, getting over heartbreak, and giving birth. She found love and security after her divorce. She enjoyed a modern family and genuinely shared her whole heart with all of us.

At 49 years old, my grandmother worked, was a wife, raised her youngest son, had grandchildren, and lived by the verse “love thy neighbor”. She always showed up for us kids, dear friends, and her 4-H family.

Without knowing it, at least she couldn’t have known, she wrote the playbook for me in case I would have the courage to listen to her wisdom and follow it. Who my grandmother was at 49 looks uncannily familiar to me. It is the map of her life that anchors me to hope for my own true happiness.

I will never be prepared for her to rest, though I realize she must eventually need–and of course, already deserves–a break.

So, it’s okay. All good, G-ma.

You are gone, now, but I can still hear your voice encouraging me.

You have been with me these 49 years.

And you always will be.

You have guided me this far.

Your voice guides me still.

I know how to move forward from here.

The way you have gone, I will now go.
The way you have lived, I will now live.
All people will be my people, and your God’s unfailing mercy will be my mercy.
May the Lord punish me ever so severely if anything
but death separates me from giving your lovingkindness to the world.

~Adapted from Ruth 1:16 & 17

Goodnight, Grandma

Goodnight, Grandma
and the Brownwood lagoon,
Goodnight Tanglewood and the California moon,

Goodnight Tiger, Goodnight 4-H,
Goodnight Cowboys and Thanksgiving plates,

Goodnight mint bushes, Goodnight birds,
Goodnight office with completed crosswords,

Goodnight Texas, and Oregon, too,
Goodnight Lone Star, my Red, White, and Blue,

Goodnight hymns and Nat King Cole,
Goodnight peanut brittle and beans eaten cold,

Goodnight phone calls at 1 AM,
Are you still up? Sure, Honey–you?

Goodnight bluebonnets, butterflies, and bees,
Goodnight hot tea, less sugar than me,

Goodnight to rescues from life’s big scares,
Goodnight, dear Grandma, now, you take care.

Goodnight Snow Goose, Goodnight spoons,
Goodnight, sweet Grandma, I’ll see you soon.

Today would be better because I’ll suffer less,
cry less seeing the date on the calendar once every four years
like a less frequent blood moon
or a high tide that catches the sea cucumber off guard
leaving him exposed to science teachers who mean well
who go to the shore with their students
for a historic poke and prod of a hardly-ever-to-be-seen event
or a string of beads that pops
all over the floor after class when a pile of books in hand catches the thread
and down, down, down they go
like a whirlpool stirred up with floodwaters no one thought would spill
over well-built levies that were tested to withhold
even more pressure than what nature forced
on unsuspecting residents beside themselves, beside the fast current
taking away their lives and livelihoods before their very eyes,
but it really is less like that because,
other than the even years divisible by 400,
every four years that day will come
with calculated predictability and immeasurable unpredictability,
so maybe instead of sadly mourning each year a little less
the stored grief floods, the fragile security then exposes
all the raw uncertainty left throbbing, gasping, and reaching
in the naked beach where the waters recede
further and further away into the depths beyond the beyond.