Past, Present, and Pondering
Finch plays her piccolo
Flicker on percussion
Robins join in soprano trills
Hummingbird with her metronome
Bees buzz in perfect harmony
Sparrows round out the symphony in melodious notes
Tones and tunes in perfect pitch
Notes and measures played on queue
All in praise of their maestro, conductor, creator
The music of spring returns
Pulling on heartstrings
©Belindabotzong2018
Multi layered,
Multi faceted
Unseen layers
Private thoughts
Personal goals
Hopes and dreams
—
Hidden layers
Hurt and loss
Grief and memories
Love and hate and passions subdued
—
Intricate layers
Ideas and inspirations
Fears and triumphs
Aspirations and ideals
—
Outer layer
Designed and scarred
Unique and beautiful
Ingrained with the fingerprint of God the creator
Infusion of experiences and life
Inner strength and grace
Outer beauty, calm and peaceful
Protecting the inner layers like an armor
Allowing beauty and love and compassion to flow out 
With the sky as his canvas
He holds a palette of light and moist vapors in the crook of his right elbow
He uses his breath to pour out subtle hues on the edges of clouds formed by his left hand
He strokes the sun to ever so slowly lift its light and he calls forth the morning
He stands back and admires his handiwork and lets it slowly transform
He adds shimmering tones of violet and lavender in multiple layers then sprinkles it all with the golden light that pours from his puddle of sunshine
He swirls a finger through his masterpiece to scatter clouds across the eastern horizon
And touches the tips of the mountain range with sparkles of gold and silver
He blows a gentle breeze across the pristine blue water that pours from his artist’s enormous brush to become the rippled bay of sapphire
He fingerpaints the distant islands into the edge of the vastness of the sea
Smudged outlines far in the western sky
He tips his head back and lets a delighted laugh fill the sky with birds then turns his head to see the perfect spot for his deep pink and purple crocus to be placed among the flowerbeds waiting to be awakened at the sound of the artist’s voice
He paints with wild abandon in every shade and tone and hue
His heart pours its fullness into details unseen by anyone but him
He sets his palette aside to admire his creation
And submits another sunrise to the gallery of eternal mornings, pleased at his handiwork
He sighs and starts planning for a brand new sunset
©Belindabotzong2018
I’ve been thinking a lot about the symmetry of life from beginning and ending. When I had a baby 25 years ago there was a constant need for my attention; he relied on me to be present, available, devoted. His very life depended on me and I loved him with the deepest, most stirring love. I would have given him anything to make him happy, to keep him comfortable, and to sustain him. There were diapers, feedings, schedules, hopes and dreams. While there was always a question of whether and when to return to work, there was never a question about leaving him in the care of strangers. I never wanted him to be raised by those who didn’t love him. I never wanted to put him in a daycare so I sacrificed wealth or at least some financial comfort for the blessing and reward of being a mom. Loading and unloading a stroller, car seats, potty chairs, feeding and bathing, keeping track of progress — these were my daily events and I loved it all.
The babies are grown and college years are done and they are independent, lovely and wonderful people. I am free of all the challenges of raising them– free to write and research and enjoy my own time, but only for a moment after I start what I thought would be my new normal, I find myself with the same tasks, expectations and dependence. Only now directed not toward raising children, rather at aiding my mother toward the end of her earthly journey, which looks remarkably similar to the beginning of the adventure of raising babies into adults, but in reverse. Allowing the adult to become the child. Her dependence on me was unexpected and unforeseen. I must love her with the deepest, most stirring love. I would give her anything to make her happy, keep her comfortable, and sustain her. There are or will someday be diapers, feedings, schedules, doctors appointments, supplies, hopes and dreams. There is the need to leave work often as there is no desire to leave her in the care of strangers who do not love her or have her best interests at heart. I must sacrifice financial comfort for her comfort for the reward of being her daughter.
Loading and unloading wheelchairs, walkers, potty chairs; feeding, bathing, keeping track of medications and appointments. These are my routine tasks and I will look back with bittersweet memories as she moves from mother to child and I will ask God for the strength to love her and bless her all the days of her life.
And the cycle is part of a long history– time infinite of mothers caring for children who care for mothers. As my mother cared for my every need and for the needs of my own children, now I and my children will care for her until it is time for them to care for me. God’s plan of infinite love, grace, forgiveness, blessing and provision.
Copyright 2016
February 1900
Leaving Nebraska – Upon arrival in Skagit Valley
The advertising of the Northern Pacific Railway brought in 2000 new residents in a month Papa bought four tickets and Willie rode along for free. The cold January wind blew my hat down the dusty platform just as we boarded. My eyes watered, not for the sorrow of leaving that place behind, not for losing my hat to the ever present wind, but to the relief of being on our great adventure westward at last! Having never ridden a train it was a great mystery and adventure for all of us. GoodBoy ran after my hat but it ended up under the carriage of the train, never to be seen again—and hopefully, just like Nebraska. I hate this desolate place and dream of the paradise we are heading toward!
Papa has said it a million times in the past months: “Lizzie, it’s like we’re moving to Promised Land! I heard down at the grange a fella reading about a farmer in this place called the Skagit River Delta. This man raises oats by the ton and sells them for $18 for each ton! Why, he has sheep that produce wool and he makes money selling it! And you won’t believe it but there’s hay harvest twice in a yar sometimes! A man can li well in this here place!”
So, we set out to buy a farm on the “Skagit River Delta” in a place called Samish.
We got settled into our train car just as the whistle bellowed, making the baby startle but he quickly went right back to sleep. Las night I wrapped up his diapers, blankets, and knitted sweater that Annie gave him. I don’t have a proper travel container so I tied it all in a bundle in another blanket. It was so hard to leave behind so many things, but as our homestead is going to be foreclosed and the money we have from the mortgage is going to fund this big move, we had to be careful not to take or leave too much.
I didn’t sleep much last night and neither did anyone else since Willie was up most of the night. A newborn cannot possibly know what’s going on but he must have sensed our excitement. I fed him one last time before the drayman showed up at 6am to take us and our belongings to the station in the pre-dawn, starry, frozen darkness.
After a long week aboard the trains, we finally saw the glorious Puget Sound! I had not been feeling well. All this travel by train does not agree with me. When I looked out the window as we pulled into Seattle, though, my heart melted as I saw the sparkling water, the tallest mountains and that clear blue February sky. I am sure this must be heaven. The sounds of the city are overwhelming. So many people, especially scruffy, bearded, over-paced men heading for boats to the Klondike. Papa made friends on the train with a fellow German who is heading there. He go papa so excited about the idea of prospecting I had to interfere quite strongly! Thankfully Papa has relented but it was really close! We left the city of Seattle, heading north.
The man heading to Alaska is Mr. Wells. He has traveled there before and told papa all kinds of wild stores of riches galore and all the beauty of creation. Mr. Wells and Mr. McLean were heading from Seattle to Edison to buy dogs for tracking in the Yukon. He said he would had all kinds of dogs to take with him. Mr. Wells and Mr. McLean will be spending the week in the area buying dogs of all shapes, sizes and colors to take on their great adventure north.
When we arrived in Belfast station, tired and hungry and with all our belongings—two crates of all we had been able to keep and bundles of clothing and bedding, Papa hired Mr. Otis, a drayman, and we were taken to Edison to stay at the “Freedom Hotel”.
Willie was a good baby all the way, thank goodness, just three weeks old. We arrived the day before Valentine’s Day. The bumpy, muddy road out there was difficult but I cannot tell how absolutely green everything was. There were a million trees, hills, fields, farms, and stumps! The river is narrow, much less a river than the one we crossed a couple days before—the Skagit was just so beautiful but the Samish is much more like a creek.
