Rocking chairs

The daughter of German immigrants, Grandmother was born in the Midwest in 1890.   She was a thinker, a mystic, a suffragette, a poetess.   An amazing woman, she marched to her own drummer.   Science, literature, organic gardening, theology… she was curious about everything.

She believed that the universe is ruled by rhythms.   Day that fades to night and reawakens to light.   The rotating seasons.   High tide and low tide and ocean waves washing to shore.   Our beating hearts, our breath.   The rhythmic ecstasy of making love.

I remember her in a rocking chair as she told us stories.   Her silver crochet hook flashed in and out, in and out, as the chair moved quietly in unison.

Years later in Yucatan, I loved sleeping in a hammock, swaying to the sound of the Caribbean.   Moonlight on the deck of a sailboat creaking back and forth at anchor.   Rocking my babies, damp and sleepy and smelling of shampoo.

A vital piece of furniture, the rocking chair's rhythmic movements are deeply familiar.   A rocking chair brings comfort and peace.   It invites reverie.   It feels like home.