Editor’s Note: Remember the good old days of blogging? We do. Quite a few writers and editors who have passed through Tweetspeak’s doors (or are still here) first began as personal bloggers. Many of these writers have let their blogs go dormant, changed directions towards a professional aim, or deleted their blogs altogether. So, there’s a whole stack of intriguing, inspiring, sometimes humorous material that’s just sitting in the dark. The Life Notes column is dedicated to bringing that material to light. Because, after all, each of us comes from the stories that made us. And these stories often shine in the retelling.
_______________
An L.L. Barkat blog post, January 17, 2011
Figuring
“Everything is terrible!” she wails, and leans into my arms.
Everything is not terrible.
There are worse days, worse places, worse lives. But to her, in this moment, everything is terrible. She is a sensitive child. And maybe the past few days of mini crisis, the weeks of us-too-busy-for-her, have piled up.
I understand. I myself am in a time of “figuring.” Looking for some way to feel a sense of space. It always comes ’round to this. I empty my life, I fill it back up. I feel burdened. I must re-figure.
Walk away, I think.
So on Friday I go skating.
On Saturday I don’t write, but instead keep a promise to make a blog for my Eldest.
On Sunday we go walking. I laugh at my Youngest’s way with the world. She is making snow hats for every fire hydrant we pass.
On Sunday evening we take time for my Youngest, the fire-hydrant-snow-hat girl who thinks everything is terrible. Time to figure how to make a Japanese tent (is there such a thing?) that she actually fills with Chinese items. We find some Japanese music and download it; we change my plans for French-toast dinner and order-in Japanese.
Lights down low, she is finally smiling. I am still figuring. But for the moment everything is suspended.
Featured photo by Zhao!, Creative Commons, via Flickr. Post and post photos by L.L. Barkat.
- Poetry Prompt: In the Wild Secret Place - January 6, 2025
- Journeys: What We Hold in Common - November 4, 2024
- Poetry Prompt: My Poem is an Oasis - August 26, 2024
Callie Feyen says
Hmmmm, I really like the word “figuring,” and now I am imagining a place to go ice-skating. I might need to figure my way through a Farmer’s Market tomorrow.
Also, snow hats for fire hydrants is something I will have to tell my Harper about. I have a feeling she will love that. 🙂
L.L. Barkat says
I did do figure 8’s when I got to the rink. I haven’t skated in forever now. 🙂
I would love to see what comes of figuring one’s way through a Farmer’s Market!
The snow hats were just so delightful as a concept. Sonia’s mind is always brimming with something surprising. She is well-named, with the middle name Joie. Joy, pure joy, when she’s in her element. 🙂
Tell Harper I could see her writing a story about the snow hats.
Bethany R. says
What a sublime ending — like poetry: “Lights down low, she is finally smiling. I am still figuring. But for the moment everything is suspended.”
These pictures are too fun, I want to show them to my kids.
L.L. Barkat says
Doesn’t she just look like the most contented princess there? 🙂 Suspended in time. A kind of transcendence.
Show them, sure. And get ready to make a “Japanese” tent! 😉
Bethany R. says
Right! 😉
P.S. I like this Life Notes column concept. Such a fresh and lovely way of looking at what’s already been written: “…each of us comes from the stories that made us. And these stories often shine in the retelling.”
Sandra Heska King says
I have a vague memory of reading this back when. I do remember always loving your photos of what creative things you and your girls were up to. I kind of miss those days. I love how everything is suspended here in these golden moments and how you pushed away the French toast plans in favor of Japanese take-out. I figure we need to do that sometimes. Just go (or skate) with the flow
L.L. Barkat says
Yes, I hear you. Now we seem to be creative in other ways. The girls always writing, video-making, storying aloud. But I do make an effort to do things differently sometimes. A living-room picnic. A dining room dance party. A picture-book read aloud, just for fun.
There is nothing like a child for imagination. I do believe that’s why we’re kept young if we have them in our lives. Young in body, and in magical mind!
Sharon A Gibbs says
This gives me hope this afternoon.
I am figuring (re-figuring?) in a different way these past few days. My moments are suspended as I grieve the loss of my 15-year-old dog. Out of sorts, I feel burdened, as the pain has piled up. Yes, everything feels terrible.
Today has felt a bit like skating—going ‘round and ‘round in figure 8’s, trying to find a place of peace.
I spent the last three hours of my dog’s life outside with him, wanting nature to lift me, carry me. I wanted all my senses fully engaged.
In the TSP Play It Forward workshop, we’ve been talking about nature and all its abundant benefits. I went outside this morning to read “Last Child in the Woods” and wouldn’t you know it? Raindrops rushed me back indoors. I felt like nature was saying, “Not now, later. You need more time.”
Instead, I cleaned the refrigerator. A metaphor for my own need to purge?
I don’t mean to whine. Just wanting to verbalize and acknowledge the process. And let you know your story inspired me. Maybe this weekend I’ll go for a bike ride—and smile.
L.L. Barkat says
Sharon, I’m sorry to hear of this. When the pain piles up, sometimes we first need to just orient ourselves to the reality of what’s going on. I think we then find small transitions, and then larger ones, to a different mental space—whether by means of nature, play, movement.
I wouldn’t be surprised if your body and soul might welcome a nap and some tender care. Tea, solitude, flowers. And then, the hope of that bike ride. 🙂
Sharon A Gibbs says
🙂
Laura Brown says
I like the repurposing of the hula hoop and parasol to create the Japanese tent. And the hint of embodiment, whether intended or not, in “figuring” (the Barbie-like photo). And the peace of the hands at rest.
The flower (rose? lotus?) to the right of the right thumb gives me a flashback to a red kimono blouse I got in sixth grade and wore into college, into threadbareness. I loved that shirt. So unlike the rest of my wardrobe. It had very similar flowers on it. But I digress.
This:
I myself am in a time of “figuring.” Looking for some way to feel a sense of space. It always comes ’round to this. I empty my life, I fill it back up. I feel burdened. I must re-figure.
Walk away, I think.
Now pondering the difference between running away and walking away. Same impulse, different response.
L.L. Barkat says
It seems to me that most play revolves around repurposing—on multiple levels. Repurposing materials, a day, a heart… for just the moment at hand.
And, yes, the figure is also on multiple levels. When we are refiguring, it ends up involving the body, the figure. Or, in many cases, it can begin with the body and go from there. (Again, the act of play is marvelous for this. Start something with your hands and it touches your head, your heart.)
Maybe a red kimono blouse is in your future? 🙂
For me, a run is fear or urgency or even excitement or thrill—although the “away” probably fits best with the first two. “Walk” is reflective, purposeful, open, clear, and always ready to return, albeit sometimes with a fresh vision or spirit that can change the returned-to-place or one’s place in that place. And the “away” in that case feels more decisive to me, like I am expecting to find something in “away” that the tangle or tiredness of the place I’m in is not furthering. How about you? Run, walk, jump, twirl, swing, or something else altogether different, when you are feeling tired or tangly or even just sensing the need for something new?
Laura Lynn Brown says
I think running away (though for me it never involves running, but sometimes involves driving) is focused on the “away” as fleeing, prompted (or driven) by some dissatisfaction, disappointment, disgruntlement, unease with the current place or situation or accumulation. Tangly is a good word for it too. It can be the anger of an absent-minded boomerang — “Let me flee, let me feel the freedom of whooshing through the air” — that forgets, or does not want to accept, that it’s going to have to return, and all too quickly, right back to where it started.
Sometimes change is needed. Change of perspective. Change from sitting to standing, from indoors to out. From a deepening dead-end rut. The list is long. And walking away literally begins with walking. It is not a huffy speed. It is a sustainable pace, unlike running.
I think there’s more often an intended physical destination in running away than in walking away. My well-sidewalked neighborhood offers nearly infinite possibilities for walking. It could be five minutes down the alley to visit the peonies, or two hours uphill and down and over bridges through three different boroughs. There is tiny destination after tiny destination, all along the way. But whatever needs working out, or needs dissolving, gets worked out in the act of walking.
Swing — I actually swung (swang?) in a playground the other day. And really wanted to go down the steep slide, to see if I still could do it and stick the landing, but there were too many people around for me to feel comfortable with it, and no one with me to share it.
There is also kayaking away.
“‘Walk’ is reflective, purposeful, open, clear, and always ready to return, albeit sometimes with a fresh vision or spirit that can change the returned-to-place or one’s place in that place.” YES. I may look at things, expecting them to change, to be other than what they are. A walk away changes the way I see them, and myself. At best it brings a kinder, more generous, more patient, more forgiving way of seeing. Which can be part of repurposing — materials, a day, a heart, even a life.
Katie says
Thank you for sharing the photos of the Japanese tent and your daughter inside:)
The colors are so bright and beautiful. What a happy space!