The Hourglass of Time
One o’clock in the morning and even in sleep my daughter hiccupped from the magnitude of her eleven o’clock cries. I nestled her closer – her feet pressing into my stomach like tiny hot stones, her dimpled hands clutching the straps of my nightgown – and repositioned my elbow to accommodate her sweat-soaked head. By the TV-like glow of the baby monitor on the nightstand, I glanced across the bed to my husband and saw that he was watching her, watching us. My eyes filled with tears as he smiled with the relief that I felt, and as I leaned down to softly kiss our daughter, I again wished that for but a moment I could cup the sand slipping through the hourglass of time.
I suppose it is part of my poetic nature to yearn to capture the ephemeral in tangible form, so that when my daughter is grown and gone I can look back and recall the anchor of her head on my collarbone as she turned and huffed sleepy breath against my cheek; her widened hazel eyes as she toppled from her belly to her back for the first time; the aria of her soprano laughter as her father zoomed her around the kitchen, an overgrown hummingbird with a delighted grin and grasping hands.
But even before Adelaide’s birth, I have been mildly obsessed with the hourglass of time. That was why I kept diaries with gold-tipped pages and elfin locks and daily entries with numerical codes that I soon forgot how to crack, and then fat journals with spiral bindings that I filled with true stories that one day I hoped to turn – just like my role model Anne with an ‘e’ — into a book called Jolina of Coldstream; why I climbed onto the roof outside my lavender bedroom and wrote bad poetry in the rain because it just felt right. It is why I pounded the podium in front of my high school and said, “We must make memories!”
Now my journal has become this digital notebook where I reveal my life on the bounds of an HTML page, and throughout the week I try to capture the moments that I loved best: walking down our lane with the rays of the setting sun like a warm hand on my back; my skirt casting swishing shadows across the piebald lane; the straight white trunks of the birch against the backdrop of the summer washed green; the caw of the crows that dive bomb a screeching hawk that spreads its wings and hovers on a current of air so high I will never be able to breathe or touch.
I imagine when I am eighty I will still yearn to capture how light flits through a windowpane and covers my knotted, parchment-skinned hands in gentle watercolor light, and then – then I hope that I will use those hands to pick up a pen or shakily strike keys, so that when I am gone, someone will be able to see the beauty in this world that for but a moment I held before the grains slipped through my arthritic fingers and I too left the hourglass of life behind.
How do you also strive to capture the ephemeralin tangible form?
dairies / daughters and mothers / Familial love / Family / journals / Love / Marriage / Parenting / Time
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Julia Munroe Martin
The story of my life… still yearning to capture (and understand) the beauty and complexities of life. I feel it strongly this week as my daughter is home for a far too brief visit. Beautiful post, Jolina.
Jolina Petersheim
I read a quote somewhere (perhaps in Jenna Blum's 'Those Who Save Us'?) that mothers and daughters share a bond far closer than that between mothers and sons. Made me so grateful to have my precious daughter, and I know that you are grateful as well. Regardless of the miles between you, you will also remain close in your hearts. And thank goodness for cell phones! 🙂
Melissa Crytzer Fry
SO much beauty in these words, Jolina. I am convinced you were BORN to write and to capture these moments so that the rest of us can savor them. Wow. Such a powerful message delivered with such fluid, magical words. I simply cannot, cannot, cannot wait to read your first published work. Your “journal” entries on this site are just a whetting of the appetite, I believe.
Jolina Petersheim
You sure know how to get me into writing gear, Melissa. Thank you, girl.
Jessica McCann
Wow. Just, wow, Jolina. Once again your post has left me at a loss for words. This is just so beautiful, and poignant, and wise. Thank you for sharing your precious moments and beautiful words.
Anonymous
I do not tweet, but; follow my daughter's. She directed me to this. All of the above comments say it all, your were “born to write” beautifully. Thank you for sharing.
Jolina Petersheim
Your precious comments leave me at a loss for words. All I can say in reply is thank you from the bottom of my heart.
randomthoughtsfrommidlife
Insightful, as always.
Jolina Petersheim
Thanks, Christine.
Sandy Cody
I just discovered this blog, Jolina, after becoming friends on Goodreads. Love it. Sweet and sensitive without being sugary.
Jolina Petersheim
Nice to meet you, Sandy! And thanks so much for visiting. 🙂
Christine London
Writing is a wonderful awful affliction, one so bitten must do. Eyes unborn shall be touched by what is now virtually immortal–digital writing.
You go girl!
Jolina Petersheim
Thank you, Christine, and SO nice to meet you! 🙂
Cecilia Marie Pulliam
Time is a precious commodity, and we all should try to savor each moment, capturing it our memories in whatever way it will stay with us. Journals are one of the best methods, written in the moment, fully evoking the emotions and thoughts. We are thankful you chose to the digital format in order to share with us. Thank you for another beautiful post, Jolina.
Jolina Petersheim
I love that idea about the journal, Cecilia. I hate to forget special moments, and that seems like the perfect way to record them. Thank you also for the tip about the email notification. I'll try to get on that this week! Hugs to you!
Cecilia Marie Pulliam
Oh one other suggestion. I have missed some of your posts. I would love to have a way of following your blog via an e-mail notification of a new post. Something perhaps you might consider adding to your blog gadgets, if and when you wish to.