When despair for the world grows in me and I wake in the night at the least sound in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be, I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds. I come into the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief. I come into the presence of still water. And I feel above me the day-blind stars waiting with their light. For a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
Then came the darker sooner, came the later lower. We were no longer a sweeter-here happily-ever-after. We were after ever. We were farther and further. More was the word we used for harder. Lost was our standard-bearer. Our gods were fallen faster, and fallen larger. The day was duller, duller was disaster. Our charge was error. Instead of leader we had louder, instead of lover, never. And over this river broke the winter’s black weather.
There was the hour when raging with fever they thrashed. The hour when they called out in fright. The hour when they fell asleep against our bodies, the hour when without us they might die. The hour before school and the hour after. The hour when we buttered their toast and made them meals from the four important food groups— what else could we do to insure they’d get strong and grow? There was the hour where we were the spectators at a recital, baseball game, when they debuted in the school play. There was the silent hour in the car when they were angry. The hour when they broke curfew. The hour when we waited for the turn of the lock knowing they were safe and we could finally close our eyes and sleep. The hour when they were hurt or betrayed and there was nothing we could do to ease the pain. There was the hour when we stood by their bedsides with ginger-ale or juice until the fever broke. The hour when we lost our temper and the hour we were filled with regret. The hour when we slapped their cheeks and held our hand in wonder. The hour when we wished for more. The hour when their tall and strong bodies, their newly formed curves and angles in their faces and Adam’s apple surprised us— who had they become? Hours when we waited and waited. When we rushed home from the office or sat in their teacher’s classroom awaiting the report of where they stumbled and where they excelled, the hours when they were without us, the precious hour we did not want to lose each year even if it meant another hour of daylight.
The Degrazia Studio, located in Tucson, was the home and artistic hub of Ted Degrazia. The studio now displays much of his work. Interesting artwork but not exactly to our taste. However we did enjoy walking the grounds which were jam-packed with interesting little sculptures and other decoration. This is the small chapel located on the property.