40x365: #20 ~ Pilar S.

Dark hair, dark eyes, dark clothes, a poet. Old and wise before your time, an intellectual in high school. And oh, how you didn't fit in. You would have been fascinating to talk to - if only I was smart enough.

40x365: #19 ~ Aunt Betty

Wife of Uncle Charlie, so pretty, so proper. I remember your white hair, your penciled eyebrows. Apparently you were a pack rat, a house full of too many beautiful things. A child doesn't see it. A child sees only kindness.

40x365: #18 ~ Uncle Charlie

Goodbye, daddy's oldest friend, you left this earth the other day. Silly childhood memories of you, your gold Nova coming up the driveway, the olives-on-toothpicks my sister and I insisted on serving you every time. So long ago.

40x365: #17 ~ Lisa J.

High school friend. You ran. And you ran and ran and ran. You were so thin then, but I didn't know enough to do anything about it, to say anything about it. I hope you're healthy now. Really, I do.

40x365: #16 ~ Josh

Ah, my old boss. Your desk always spotless, your pocket list of "funny things to tell my wife tonight," your 9:30 bathroom run, newspaper in hand. Wish I could say you taught me something; at least you made me laugh.

40x365: #15 ~ Mr. C.

My high school math teacher, the subject of my college essays. You found a cheat sheet under my desk and believed me when I said it was not mine. Your trust was sobering. I still feel lousy about that day.

the ultimate in naval gazing

Today's theme over at Picture This is Mama, which offers the perfect opportunity to focus on myself for a frame or two. As I read Tracey's description, I thought to myself, "What defines me as a mama?" Not a difficult question, it turns out. It's my belly, which has become somewhat of a roadmap of my life. My belly button is a marker of my distant past, my connection with my own mama; my less-distant past represented by the now mostly-closed piercing just above it. My slightly stretched violet tattoo is a touchstone, a connection with a different time in my life, when I only dreamed of being a mama myself and thought I'd be young forever. And, of course, in the past this belly was also a home, a cocoon for my Eli. In the present it is rounder, softer than it used to be, but those newer qualities are hard-earned and cherished. And then there's the future, when it may again - someday - be a place for a bunch of tiny cells to stake a claim at the core of my heart, the center of my universe. Whether that happens or not, my belly is what it is because I am who I am. And who I am is a mama.