The Tiger

As a child, I remember watching The Tiger venture into the water, never the ocean; only the safety and confinement of the pool.

The pool was dirty, cold and unopened. The vinyl lining had caved in and crumbled into the sand and water stirred together for more than 10 years.

The Tiger couldn't swim. Parents from his country scared their young away from the cold sea for their own good. Most young never learned to swim. 

The Tiger would venture into the pool with trepidation and flirtation. He liked it. And, he feared it. He respected the depth that called him.

Looking for home, he followed his emaciated soul into that which was below the crumbled lining. 

What am I going to do with all of this almond flour?

In acknowledgement of Celiac Awareness Month and in support of my three-year old son who was recently diagnosed, I decided to take a pledge of going gluten-free for the month.  
  

I have been impressed by the wide-array of support which has contributed to making this journey fairly easy. Gluten-free options avail at groceries stores and at restaurants. For the most part, servers have been knowledgeable and helpful – no one has made me feel like a high-maintenance, trend-following customer when I ask about gluten-free options.

I recently bought a 5lbs bag of almond flour and I have no idea what do with it.  I keep spending money on gluten-free groceries because I don’t know what else to do. Somehow, I think that buying all of this shit is going to help heal him, help soothe him, to help soothe me, and provide me penance for not catching “it” sooner.

The specialists explained that we needed to re-introduce gluten into my son’s diet before the endoscopy and biopsies.  My husband and I have had a hard time doing this, especially since we have seen a noticeable and positive difference in our son’s health since he has gone gluten-free.   

We decided that once the appointment was a week away, we would re-introduce the gluten and give him on gluten filled item each day.  The surgery was today.  According to the doctor who performed the procedures, the cillia growth was not conclusive. She decided to conduct seven biopsies to help enhance the diagnosis. I am now fearful that we did not give him enough gluten and we will have to go through this again. The saga continues and we will know more in about a week. In the meantime, we are back to leading as close to a gluten-free lifestyle as possible.

I have been 100% gluten-free since May 1, that is, until this past weekend. I gave myself an “out” for three reasons – 1) it was my birthday/mother’s day 2) I ran my first 5K 3) my son has been eating some gluten this week in advance of his procedure.

 My first non-gluten free items were not mind blowing in any way. It was an entirely impulsive choice to even go off the diet. It was Mother’s Day (Sunday) and I was running my first road race. I have never done anything like this before and did not realize how much of a big to-do it would be. Since the race was for charity, there were tons of donations made by local restaurants. I ate about 1/8 of scone before the race and a half of hot dog after the race.  I split the hot dog with my son. To him it was just another hot dog, yet to me it was an example of me giving in, giving up, and sacrificing my integrity.  For what? Free food? Instead of feeling satiated by the gluten bites, I felt shame and guilt. 

I don’t have celiac disease. My gluten-free crusade is optional.  It is for a month. I did not even last two full weeks before having a lapse. Celiacs don’t have a choice. My son does not have a choice.

Pine Street

Fleeting it may be
the moment is now
to notice
to embrace
to listen
to believe
to stop
to play

In that space between that which defines the dailiness of our days, I am want to remind myself that this is *it*.

This is the "ever after", the "someday", the "if only".

Time to plant flowers and leave dishes.
Bake bread and ignore laundry.
Build tents out of blankets and make a sleep-over with my family.

The dream exists. It is here between me and you and them and us.

Write now.
Paint now.
Absorb now.

That which we pine for is here.
It will never be perfect.
Weeds will always need tending.
Paint will need to be peeled.
Baby clothes need to be rotated.
Dinner to be made.
Laundry to be folded.

The key, it seems, is to carve out space within our reality and challenge ourselves to enjoy it ...

the bubbling water, the stained, yet, clean t-shirts, the rocks and sand that artfully litter the backyard, and the strewn about DVDs with mismatched cases.

This is what I will yearn for now. 10 years from now, 10 days from now, 10 minutes from now. I yearn now.