I think it’s partly the weather, not just the date, but Autumn is immanent. I can feel it in my joints and the sky is a pathological liar. Sun one moment, but it’s just a tease, rain the next. Gloom and gray are raucous, you hear that party arriving long before you see it. Drunk gods of thunder, deranged beasts clothed in storms; it is no party I’m interested in attending.

Summer, you were fleeting. Dangerously addictive. I miss you already. I would abandon everything to be with you again.

Today was a hard day. And I will confess, that I’m self medicating with Ghirardelli. A whole huge bar of milk chocolate. It didn’t work, so I washed it down with a glass of red wine. Not good stuff, not bad either. Just enough to dull this ache, if this ache could be dulled. I don’t think I can bear this pain alone… so sit with me for awhile, OK?

I said goodbye to the Summer Lunch program today. It is wrapping up this week, and today was my last day. I made a point of saying goodbye to my fierce boy, this child who has stolen my heart. Because he’s autistic and doesn’t really get that I’m not permanent, I needed him to know I wasn’t coming back. Not until next year. He fought the tears, and I fought them too. I told him that I believed in him. That I knew he would be OK. That I would be holding him in my thoughts forever. And that I would see him next year. Promise.

He’s had a hard summer. He’s had a hard life. He has no filter that tells him his emotions should be in check, so everything he feels is so available for you or me to see. Very available to those around him to mock and tease and taunt. He lives a life in full view; I bury mine beneath all my own scars. But I recognize it. I do. He’s just out there on the surface, throwing his head into concrete walls when frustration takes hold. The only real difference between us is that I’ve met the concept of metaphor.

“Tell me something funny,” I say. “Tell Hannah Montana a joke, buddy.”

“Why did the chicken cross the road?” he replies, running in circles, this is how I will remember him. Always running.

“I don’t know, why did the chicken cross the road?” I ask.

“To get some milk.”

We laugh. Not because it’s funny. But because it has to be funny. We are fighting the inevitability of the season, the inevitability of change. Tomorrow, I will not be there.

“Wende, why did the Chicken cross the road?” he begins again. I’m wishing it was that easy, to begin again.

But then it is time to go. Time to really say goodbye, time to pack up our program, time for one last hug. I have become jaded and not capable of being surprised by anything. Abuse and neglect. Hunger and poverty and absolute joy in the midst of it. I cannot be fazed. We pull away, our car in motion, and then he surprises even me. Banging loudly on my window, his little fists flying, flying in my direction not at yet another tormentor. Fumbling with unfamiliar car controls, I roll down the window.

“Goodbye,” he says, “I’ll miss you.” And then he begins to cry, “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Kiddo.” I say with as much composure as I can muster.

But I’m not mustering any composure now. I’m just slipping into Fall, holding onto a summer I won’t forget.

I ain’t happy, I’m feeling glad
I got sunshine, in a bag
I’m useless,but not for long
The future is coming on

Me: “If I were London I’d be embarrassed right now. I don’t think they should even bother with an opening ceremony in four years.  Just march the athletes into the stadium, ‘Hey kids, wave at the camera’, raise a few flags, sing a few anthems, and break out the brew.”

IZ: “Well, you know who has to be worried right about now, Vancouver, BC.”

Me: “No kidding. They could just spend the whole time pointing out that they have snow and reciting all the names for it. ‘Snow. Snow. Snow,’ two hours later, ‘Snow. Snow. Snow. Did you know no two snowflakes are alike? Look, we have SNOW.’”

Boy Wonder, “No, you’re saying that all wrong. That should be, “Snow, eh. Snow, eh. Snow, eh. Did you know no two snowflakes are alike, eh?”

We love you Canada, but seriously—go OLD SCHOOL and just introduce the athletes, eh?

Look who came for a visit.

Boy Wonder: “You cannot sell this.”

Me: “Why not?”

Boy Wonder: “Because I LOVE it!”

Me: “Yeah, but would you really use it? I mean, you’d carry that onto a plane?”

Boy Wonder: “Sure! It makes me laugh, Mom.”

Me: “Yeah, but I didn’t exactly  make those for 11 year olds; frankly, I didn’t think it would appeal to your age group.”

Boy Wonder: “Yeah, I know. It’s for little kids and adults who don’t care what people think. . . So don’t tell my friends, m’kay?”

Me: “Nope, I won’t tell your friends.”

August has this way of making me feel disconnected. The world seems to move at double pace, while I feel like I’m sloshing through knee deep mud. It’s a terrible sensation. My summer is quickly fading and I’m already feeling the crunch.

I woke up last Thursday with that distinct feeling of September encroaching. I brushed it aside, but it’s still in the corner, mocking me. Can’t stop the march of time, I suppose.

Mud is not the only thing knee-deep in my life. The floor of my studio is littered with fabric scraps and bits of buckwheat hulls. As I’ve run out of hulls and my new shipment won’t be in until later this week, I’ll be spending the better part of this afternoon digging out of my chaos. Somewhere in the mess, I’ve lost my seam ripper. It’s a good thing the boy sews, I can pilfer his supplies when mine go mysteriously missing in my creative mess.

Anyhow, Mireio launched last week. It’s a soft opening; my ad with Modish will run in September. I’m hoping to have at least doubled my stock by then. I’ve had two sales, already…. which is wonderful. But this, and the food program, is what has me under cover right now. When I do get to the computer, it’s not to blog, it’s to write listings. I’m having fun creating lives for my products, but it’s creatively draining. It doesn’t leave many words for this endeavor, eh?

I’m also hoping that September will bring a bit of breathing room. A chance to step back into your worlds with more consistency. You should know that despite my lack of presence on your blogs, I’m thinking about all of you. Wondering how you all are. Drop me a line, if you can. I miss you.

Ok, back to my studio. Note to self: wear shoes until you find your seam ripper. Ouch!

I feel like there is moss growing on this blog.

Thank you all, for your concern and comments. I’ll be responding tomorrow. But I thought I’d share this snippet from today.

One of the boys at my location is fierce; he’s who I had to send home last week for fighting. He’s only about 8 and has such a hard time communicating with words. He tends to resort to his fists when overwhelmed, hence the growling and kicking and fighting last week. But there is a tender side, beneath all the anger. A sweet and loving and absolutely adorable side. So, you can imagine how touching it was to have him come up to me, put his arm around me, give me a small hug, and then whisper in my ear, “Wende, you’re Hannah Montana.”

I can’t tell you how much that has me smiling today.

Lately, words have escaped me. Some of you have been waiting patiently in the silence; for your understanding I am grateful.

It’s been suggested that I’ve been being “mysterious”… much to your chagrin, apparently. Truth is, that’s hardly the case. It’s true, I’m not talking about the new product launch just yet. But the abundance of photo posts as of late has more to do with the reality of my days. I get to the end and find I just can’t summon words. I’m tired. Emotionally, in ways I’m still trying to find words to express.

I spent most of this Spring working on getting Day Camp together. Last week, we met for our wrap up meeting and it’s been decided that I’m the natural candidate to be the coordinator again next year. In a momentary lapse of judgment, I said “yes.” In part, because we’re moving to a new model next year and having some continuity is going to be necessary. But also because my experience with leading these sorts of events is very much, “you learn the first year, you LEAD the second.” I’ve already told them that 2010 is someone else’s job. I’m moving on to other endeavors.

It’s a difficult decision, really. Because while I know I should shepherd our Day Camp program through the next step, I can see my future path—and it’s calling me. It’s got a blow horn and my number and I’m losing sleep over it already. I keep saying, “I can give you time this year, I can give you MORE time next year. . . ” and my instinct is to drop my entire life and give my whole self to it NOW.

I hate this compartmentalization of our lives. It’s ridiculous. We are whole people, with wounded souls that seek resolution in a wounded world. Yet, salvation comes in pieces. Clarity comes in parts. Wholeness is a choice to see the complexity for what it is. We don’t get that perfect peace in every moment. Instead, we string parts and pieces together and we hope for the best in the meantime.

In my meantime, I’m beginning to question my very existence. It’s always about ego, isn’t it?

I will confess, I feel helpless a bit. This new horizon involves feeding children with the Summer Food Program. I’m giving them what time I have this summer–which is a pathetic day or two a week. My heart wants to be doing this work full-time; my reality isn’t going to permit it. My own sense of safety and sanity are deeply at risk—and this is where I fall down, and where I struggle beyond what you’d imagine. I’m not sure I can do what my heart requires. It’s a step in faith, to believe that I can be OK absorbing all this grief. Creator God, “Help thou, my unbelief”.

Two years ago, I spent a little time with this program and fell in love. There is, in my mind at least, nothing more central to the gospel than feeding people. When you sit down at lunch, munch on a PB&J with a bunch of kids—just kicking it in the summer, this reaches souls in ways you cannot imagine. For some of these children caring adults are more scarce than the next meal. And two years ago, I was assigned to a location where the kids came mostly for the social interaction. I spent a week talking trash about Izzie from Grey’s Anatomy and speculating if Meredith and McDreamy have what it takes for the long haul. I took home that lovely feeling of being with amazingly needy children and several names I now offer up to the Universe regularly.

This year is a different story. My location is so violent and so turbulent and so impoverished, I come home and weep. Migraines ensue. These kids show up for lunch because they’re hungry. For some of them, this is the only meal they’re going to see in the day. I cannot convey the depths of hunger here. I wish I could–I wish I could capture this poverty for you, in such a way that it could change their world. In my first week, I’ve broken up a fight and fielded a phone call from a colleague about how to report suspected neglect. They are scrapers and fighters and survivors. They have to be. Every last one of them breaks my heart and makes me question if loving my own is enough. Maybe, maybe we should be loving more than our own.

There are not words. I don’t have them. I’m crying through this stupid post; I wish that you could know the horror of seeing a child collect half-eaten lunches to save for the weekend. Not her lunch, mind you, she ate that; but the lunches of other children because it’s a LONG time until Monday. Or the horror of having to tell small boys who are late for lunch, that they can’t eat: we have a deadline, we have legal obligations that mean we can’t leave perishable food. Dear GOD!, these babies are hungry and I can’t feed them. I don’t know if the divine is hearing my prayer. It’s this simple truth— that has me questioning my choices and my ability to keep moving forward with this—a lunch is not enough.

I’ve been asked to consider being the volunteer coordinator next year. (Just as a total aside, HOW IN GOD’S NAME IS IT POSSIBLE THAT THERE AREN’T PEOPLE WILLING TO DO THIS WORK????) Due to my commitment to Day Camp, I’m not in a position to take it on fully. But I’ve committed to helping the current coordinator (possibly job sharing) next year. I suspect she would run the kitchen aspect and I would be put in charge of drumming up volunteers. Let me tell you, I intend to do so with a vengeance. I get that not everybody is as passionate as I am about feeding kids. I will also admit, that I cannot fathom why that is! But I do appreciate we all have our worthwhile causes. But people, please trust me when I say–that when it comes to causes, you will NEVER be the same after spending just two hours with this program. You won’t see food the same. You won’t look at your possessions, your own life, your own sense of direction the same. And the gospel, the gospel becomes crystal clear. It’s not so mysterious.

I will confess, I’m burning my candle at both ends.