blue eyes, blue sweater

she had on a blue sweater that was almost as brilliant as her shining eyes, white hair and a perfect smile. she reminded me of someone but i can't say who. her earrings and necklace looked handcrafted and the man she was with must have been her son, and the woman in the next chair was his wife i guessed. she sipped on white wine and talked about theater and opera and current events and they loved being with her, i could tell by the way they leaned their heads away from the setting sun so they could get the best view of her.

my girlfriends and i, there we were with our own setting sun and cold drinks holding hands. 85% success rate, i told them, and there will be a healing process, and i need you so much. do you think i should do it and if so, why so," and they said "yes, it sounds right."
will you be there with me, pray with me, sit with mike, and sit with me when they bring me back to my room? of course we will they said, whatever you need.

the conversation shifted to kelsey's prom and jo's son and cyndi's gorgeous necklace which she purchased at the gem show in tuscon. we talked, my girls and i, but i was somewhere else and i couldn't help watching the lady in blue and how expressive she was. lovely hands peeling popovers and enjoying her company. i felt like i knew her or at least wanted to. she seemed so calm and comfortable and wise. i wondered about her first name. perhaps it was catherine or bell or who knows what it was.

i thought of all the things this beautiful woman has seen and been through and maybe she has had heart problems too or maybe other things. she was fine now and she was enjoying being loved and whatever she has faced she has faced with grace and she is gorgeous and fine.

my girlfriends told me i will be fine, too. they will see me through it, and someday will come and i'll be sitting in her chair with a full and healthy heart and all will be well.

someday.

estate sale

the man in the striped shirt and turquoise pants is moving to mexico and so everything must go. miles and miles of silver chafing dishes, china platters, thick paintings, overstuffed couches with high backs and fancy feet, books of russian literature, oil lamps and wine glasses in every color. a lifetime of things to have and hold and now they are going out the door in brown paper bags, piece by piece. two old cement lions sitting on the steps are marked "sold to todd" and todd also purchased quite a bit of vintage lawn furniture. lucky todd.

i wandered from room to room astounded at the grandeur of this place and its contents. so many rooms in which to be and how would you choose and would you use them all if this was yours? would it feel peaceful or chaotic to have so many places to read or rest or entertain, eat or sleep or write or just be. sitting on the cool stone porch, would you wish you were in the sunroom on the east side? dinner in the dining room with the frescoes on the ceiling? or in the small parlor with the dark paneled walls? which room offered the best spot for napping or did it depend on the time of day or year?

maybe that is why the man in the torquoise pants is moving. too much space and too much stuff and i imagine him retreating to a small adobe hut built into the side of a mountain with hot sand and succulent plants all around. a cute servant boy named pablo will bring him cool drinks and smoothe the wrinkles out his gauzey white shirts after he rinses them in rain water.

whatever his story, he is clearly mid-book. chapter 48. everything accumulated up to this point goes away to make room for new places, friends and things.

he is standing on one side of the magnificent split staircase with a notepad and pen and a woman interrupts him asking for a price on some candlesticks. "just one moment ma'am, i'm helping someone else right now, por favore". and then he turns to the first lady and says

"i'll take $25 for that, dear."

a sticky soul

company is coming so i started cleaning. funny the things you take on when you really get in the mood. there was a sticky mess on the wood floor in the linen closet - old cough syrup clumped in a dusty mass, greasy and stubborn but gone now.

reminds me of a woman i met once. twice actually. mike says she must have been dipped in vinegar somewhere along the way. put a red hat and some shorts on her and she'd be a garden gnome. hunched and crunched and tiny in her anger. tight muscles in her face like sailor's knots in a nasty storm that never ends. a cup half empty. a silver lining with a grey cloud.

what joy is there in that? joy should come from somewhere, but for some it comes in love and for some it comes in misery.

the more the deeper the better, no matter love or misery.

gone, but they have not forgotten

we were feeling a little wistful last night as we sunk into bed. mothers day tomorrow and not a mom between us. we were not sad, really, just remembering martha and barbara and wishing we could call them tomorrow and tell them we love them and how did they like their flowers.

oh well.

a moment later midnight struck and mothers day came and

both of our alarms went off one minute apart. mine first, then his. each playing music. a brief investigation proved that neither of these radios were set to go off.

but they did anyway.

"we love you, kids, we're here with you and love you always. sweet dreams."

sweet dreams to you. and thanks for calling.

a dog in the engine

on a recent california morning, a man opened the hood of his car and found a dog. a pit bull. just sitting in there. somehow she got stuck, after obviously challenging herself to see if she could climb up there. like when you wonder if your tongue will really stick to the flagpole on the playground in december. or if your big toe fits in the tub faucet as you lie there soaking -- just like laura petry.

she achieved part one ("can i climb up there?") but didn't know that there was a part two
("uh oh"), and patiently she sat, until a nice man popped the hood and saw a pair of amber eyes blinking amid the pumps and wires (much of which had been chewed up by then). he called together a strong support team to rescue his engine and the beast: police, animal control, and his three daughters.

a while later the 3 year old pup with no tags and a few leg cramps was tucked away in a shelter, with hopes that someone will recognize and fetch her. far as i know she is still waiting.

what a great thing it would be to have a dog in your engine. a best friend, a great protector, a lover of life, hunkered down in between all the parts that make you run. a patient guardian, a fiend for affection, and sometimes he even knows right from wrong. silky ears to boot. just sitting in there for no particular reason except that that dog wondered if he could climb up into everything that makes you think and wait for you to notice.

what a nice surprise.

blessings

pity me. no, don't. i can do that myself and have overindulged in that defeating habit of late. last night between tosses and turns i thought of all the things that don't make sense.

why this heart and why now?

why, after 86 years of faithful service to god did mom die a hideous, slow and painful death in that stinky place with holes in the walls?

why did friendships that used to steer my strength fall away after so many years?

why can't i find the one thing i am meant to do and be and just do and be it?

and then you all came around. you offer ferocious love and complete support, good wishes and prayer chains, cups of coffee and sunday morning outings.

and so perhaps...

this heart is showing her personality, that's why she flutters.

lady barbara died with all that she would have asked for and needed: my hand in hers, and the sound of my voice saying "i love you" as she flew off to heaven.

friendships come and go like seasons and trends. sometimes the life of each has gone on to other things, and sometimes they come back in greater richness.

and as for what i am meant to do, perhaps i am doing it already. marcus buckingham says that people don't change as they get older, they just grow closer and closer to what they really are.

blessings for me, so many.

blessings to you.

because of you, everything makes sense.

everything.

a fighting heart

my heart and i are at it again. fighting like mismatched lovers who are desperate in their need to be together, whose passion is on fire, but who can't go a day without each bringing out the worst in the other. the best moments are the quiet ones when they lay in bed and hold each other, keeping all thoughts to themselves as they fold into each other and sometimes they fall asleep holding hands. but then one of them finds a reason to surge above the other like a giant wave pushing things to shore whether they want to go or not. crashing on the beach like breaking glass.

as for us, my heart and i, sometimes we lay together quietly, and when she is calm she is oh so calm. she feels soft and strong, steady and comforting. i never take her mellow moods for granted anymore. i close my eyes and breathe deeply and i thank her.

but then she gets in one of her moods. she jumps or she flips or races faster than i can keep up with her, and sometimes the beats are so fast and strong they almost hurt. not only in my chest but in my back and ribs and shoulder blades. i plead for her to slow down, i remember the green line, and if it is 5 am or 5pm i give her two pills and sometimes she takes a break but sometimes she doesn't.

yesterday after taking to bed on a perfect afternoon, i got very angry with her for the first time. usually i am so frightened of her and this time i was just plain mad. i put on my jeans and took off my bra and stomped around the backyard as if to outrun her. and then i poured a tall glass of red wine, and then another, and then a smoke. i stay away from these things to try and soothe you sister, but you are not cooperating so let's just see how you like this! i thumped my back hard in my patio chair and i rocked with ferocious intention trying to smack her back into sinus rhythm and sure enough, after a while, she took my hand, apologized, and rested.

but now it is sunday and we are fighting again.