Vitamin Hold

The world, it seems, is all elbows of late.
Sharp jabs in the ribs, prods in the back.
And nothing is nicer, in this sort of world
Than coming home to your outstretched arms.

Vitamin Childhood

The mysteries of childhood are large.

Unwieldly, persistent, and full.

A doll becomes a living soul -

A towel, a prince's robe.

These mysteries follow us everywhere -

trailing behind us like so many clouds of pixie dust,

smudging the clean lines of our lives.

("Can I take my bear to the potty with me?"
"Mom, don't ruin my space ship! It's going to Mars!")

And as the crowns, badges, dolls and capes pile up

I realize just what they are.

Not playthings at all, but tools;

Their business more serious than any grown-up pursuit.

For with each incarnation of doll into darling, stick into sword,

the child is shaped by the things she adores.

A princess. A hero. A king. A friend.

From fireman to fairy, these fantasies

are more real than most of what takes place

when they fade.

I love them for that.

The children, yes.

The fantasies, and even their trail-along toys.

But most of all, the souls.

The kings beneath their bedsheet robes,

the heroines gracing teddy bears with their care.

I cherish the reality their make-believe shows-

laying up stock in the Day

when all playthings transform

into the stuff made for legends.

Their capes shine with jewels! Their crowns catch the light!

And all their glory comes Home.

Vitamin Wait

Last week, I spent an enjoyable forty minutes wending my way through New Mexico's farmlands on my way to rendezvous with a friend.

When I arrived at our prescribed meeting place, rather than pulling out my trusty cell phone, I pulled out a two quarters instead. Equipped with the necessary fundage, I made my way into our meeting place - a fast-food joint - and asked about the nearest pay phone.

Flashing me a look somewhere between disgust and admiratio, the girl behind the counter handed me the business phone instead.

Naturally, it was coated in grease - but I gingerly accepted it and dialed the appropriate numbers. My friend answered - on her cell phone - and told me she would arrive shortly to pick me up. When I hung up, I briefly considered waiting out in my van, but opted for the warmth of the restaurant instead. Here, unable to resist the proximity of frosty dairy beverages, I ordered a milkshake.

And there I sat, drinking my malt. Staring out the window at the passing traffic. Listening to the behind-the-counter banter of the restaurant's employees. I pulled out no ipod. I punched in no instant messages. I dialed no numbers, played no games on my Blackberry, enjoyed no tunes on my portable device. Instead, I just stared out the window.

The sun was shining. It reflected off of the window in such a way as to create a double-image effect, which I found quite transfixing. I sat. I sipped. I considered the quality of this establishment's product. Thick, rich, full, and sweet - this treat that would register high on the calorie-meter, but I couldn't have cared less. This wait - this moment of peace in an otherwise unpeaceful world - had stripped all the worry from my mind.

I sipped. I savored. I reveled in the breadth of each moment. There we were, myself and I, enjoying a treat that would not have been if I had owned a cellphone. True. the wait took a chunk from an already overbooked day. But it was a chunk I felt privileged to lose. If only I coul wait more often ... my days would be worth their weight in gold.

Vitamin Selah

Her laugh
fills a room,
a heart,
a home.

Her heart
houses laughter
and fills all its rooms
with joy.

Her joy
makes room
for the laughter
of others.

Her home
is the heart
where others find room
to be free.

Her freedom
to laugh
creates room for others
to find joy.

Vitamin Rug-Outside-My-Shower

It's just a rug

But it provides

Relief for all my woes.

I step from warmth

Onto its fluff

And all my worry goes.

Before it came

I'd placed my feet

On cold, unloving tile.

But now I find

Such peace of mind

That bathing makes me smile!

For from my shower

I'd been loathe

To move the smallest toe

Until the day

This rug arrived

And now what joy I know!

Oh, treasured rug!

Oh lavish grace

To find you waiting here!

Each time I step

From steamy warmth

Your presence brings me cheer.

Your friendly hue!

Your deep, soft pile!

The one from whence you came!

For these and countless

Other loves

I gladly praise your name.

Vitamin Pressure

Normally, I run -

walk, stride, saunter.

But lately, it's been cold.

I've stayed inside.

Not even ventured out to use the hovering black relief

of my punching bag.

And so, the pressure's off.

No pounding, jolting sense

Of sole, foot, palm, fist

Jammed against a substance that resists.

I miss that. I miss the jarring hit, the freeing pain

That accompanies my normal routine.

I've come to rely on it, I guess - the series of small pressures

somehow relieving

the larger ones

that build up

where jogging can't release them.

Vitamin Grace

It's wicked cold out today. So cold that only the bravest of old women in my sedate neighborhood managed the feat of a late-morning walk. So cold that I opted for mismatched socks, clunky shoes, unattractive layers, and long, head-warming hair in place of a more presentable appearance. Yes, I knew I'd be out - but who cared? I'd be quick, and besides - I'm only a housewife. Who really expects housewives to wear lipstick?

---

Flash forward to every housewife's inevitable errand, the wide aisles of Costco. Here I swerved past beckoning tiers of higher-end food, fending off my progeny's pleas for just one more sample from the All Revered Cookers. We approached the checkout line, nearly unscathed. I placed my snap peas, my embarrasingly large bag of carrots, and two frozen lasagnas on the conveyer belt. I wheeled my children through line. I payed. And as I prepared to depart (keenly aware, mind you, of the snappily-dressed mother of three who'd stood quietly in line behind me) ... I spotted her.

Her name eluded me momentarily. But I'd know her crown of golden-white hair in any supermarket bonanza. She glanced up, perfectly coiffed, and gave me her genuine and gracious full smile.

"Hello, neighbor!" She beamed as she approached me. Her cart, too, was scantily laden: The fare of an older widow and her two cats. But here our similarities ended.

Her hair was immaculate. Her outfit, from her fuzzy-lined, quilted jacket right down to her perfectly coordinated handbag, called out good taste. Her appearance, far from gaudy, spoke of a general care for her well-being - and a pride in what assets she still maintained.

Katherine (I'd at last remembered her name) beamed generously upon my three smudgy children. She remembered them: Did they remember her? They'd knocked on her door at Halloween, dressed (what was it?) - oh yes, as space heroes. They were so cute. No, she hadn't sold her house. The market had been bad, blah blah blah.

In a break in the neighborly small-talk, I volunteered what I had been thinking.

"Katherine, you look lovely!"

Again, she smiled graciously - and I saw her eyes drift for a moment to my oversized, tubular down jacket. From there to my yoga pants, cut too long. And last, to those abominable clunky shoes, before returning (with grace) to my naked face.

Not even lip gloss today! What was I - daft?

"Don't look!" I heard myself saying. "It's so cold I threw fashion to the wind!"

She laughed (graciously). "Oh dear, you always look nice." And although I knew that she meant it - although we ended our short coversation on a note of mutual goodwill - I coudln't help walking away with the feeling that I had been somehow ... brought higher.

If an old woman, widowed, with nobody to impress but her silent cats, could manage to get out in the winter looking like a girl on her first date ... couldn't I at least fix my hair? I, with a husband, a small daughter who learns from my habits, and plenty of 'assets' on which to improve?

It's not so much about appearance, either, I realized as I trundled my offspring back to the comparitive warmth of our waiting minvan. It's far more about the bigger picture.

On the coldest of days, in the most unfriendly of seasons, how do I find myself reacting? When I'd rather sob - when my hair (or worse, my mood) won't cooperate - do I make an effort, like Katherine, to don a genuinely appealing, generous tone with the world? Or do I (as I did today) consider the task to great to be dealt with - do I allow my hair, my clothes, my mood, my expression to fly where they will, unattended? And if so ... what will be the result down the road? In my thirties, forties, sixties, or nineties ... how will I fare under the public eye, private spotlight? Will my wrinkles, my disappointments, my drooping assest cause more harm than they really should - or will they merely be 'things that happen' along my joyous, my beautiful, my fulfilling journey? Will my face (like hers) speak of grace and genuine care, both for others and my own self?

I hope so.

I hope that's what my face does.

But, as we all know, the face is merely the mirror of the soul. So the real, the in-earnest work begins there.

To start with, I'll remodel my thinking about the cold. Perhaps this weather's really a pleasing opportunity to showcase the nicer of my chill-weather sweaters instead of this meant-for-home, manly sweatshirt. Perhaps the cold is a chance to be grateful, start smiling, take a walk. Each season has its place: Each season has its grace. I think it's high time I concentrated on this fact instead of any inconvenience these seasons may cause me. In the end, I have a sense that this will make all seasons blend together as one - one beautiful, unending season of bounty, from which I will have been blessed to partake and give back very freely. And oh, I am ready for that season to start. Thanks to Katherine, it may have just started ... today.