It’s May. And I haven’t been here in a long, long time. But I’m back. It’s been nearly a year since we moved to the suburbs and we love it. Daughter is having a blast in Kindergarten and only has a few weeks left. Husband and I doing our first duathlon tomorrow, and I’m doing another in a couple weeks. The (newest) dog is loving and cuddly and wakes me up by licking my face… or my toes. Meanwhile the flowers are blooming, the grass is waking up and the sun is starting to shine. It feels good to be back, it feels right.
A close friend and I went to see the movie Wild last night. We met right after work at a theater not far from my house. The crowd was small, mostly women. We got our popcorn and found our seats and settled in. I read the book many months ago, and while I remember the story, I didn’t remember all the details. My friend just finished the book last week. So halfway through, when she handed me a kleenex I knew I would need it. And then I needed another. And another. And finally I gave up wiping my eyes and just let the tears pour down my face washing away any make-up that still existed after a long day. Reese’s tired eyes and Laura Dern’s wide smile are all I’ve been able to think about all day. My friend returned my book to me and I’m going to read it again. Starting today.
My orchid bloomed again. I know they are supposed to bloom more than once, but not for green thumbs like me. When I buy a plant I always ask the garden store for something I can’t kill. These plants are few and far between. Last year, just before we listed the house again, I bought this orchid. I used it for staging the house. It spent its days on a floating shelf just inside the house; a signature piece that was supposed to show what patient and careful homeowners we were. I never expected it to last the move and actually bloom again. For the past couple months it was a pot of leaves and two long stems. Should I cut them stems? LEave them? Toss it? Then I woke up to a beautiful purple bloom. And the next day there was another. By the weekend there should be too more. A quick search on google told me that a healthy orchid will bloom every 8-12 months. Boom. It’s back. And I couldn’t be happier.
This morning we were cuddled in bed. Daughter in the middle. Husband and I on either side of her. Dog pouring across the whole bed. Daughter looked up and pointed at the ceiling fan.
“I’m going to put a tomato on each one of those.”
“A tomato on each blade of the fan?”
I looked over her head and saw Husband shrug his shoulders.
“Yeah… and then I”ll turn it on.”
“Oh, really? What if we put you on a blade of that fan?”
“Never!” she giggled.
And then a round of tickling began.
“The universe is a stage on which your mind dances with your body, guided by your heart.”
This quote was on the teabag I grabbed last night. I’ve been nursing a cold and all I wanted was a mug of tea and a book to read. I set the tiny sheet of paper on my desk, where I found it again this morning. What does it mean? What does it mean to me? I’m not sure, but it deserves some pondering. Do my mind and body really follow my heart? I wish they did. I hope they do.
It was thirteen below zero. I made her wear her snow pants. A hat. Her mittens. We drove the 75 feet to the bus stop. We were early. We waited. Music played. The car hummed. I looked over and saw her. So little. But so big. She was in the front seat. Unbuckled. A small smile across her face. We watched the cars drive past. We looked to our left. Waiting for the boys to join us at the bus stop. I took off my own mitten to touch her face. Smooth. Beautiful. Can I take your picture? I want to remember this. I tell her.
It’s the third day of the year. And if I had been more dedicated to this 91 words for 91 days thing I would be on post #14. So, here goes…
The house is quiet. Husband and Daughter are at hockey. I’m nursing a cold and didn’t want to share my germs with 18 little girls. The dog is chewing on a toy and wondering when I’m going to walk her. It’s pretty nice outside — in the upper 20s. But the temp is going to drop all day and the high tomorrow is going to be zero. It’s days like today that I remember why I live in Minnesota. Tomorrow will be another story.
Off to walk…
It’s the second day of the year. My Writing Dangerously book asked me to create a space today. Find a regular time to write. A regular place. My life is too busy and chaotic to actually schedule time, but here I am. At 830 in the morning on a Friday. We are all still on vacation, so I’m squeezing this in before I walk the dog and meet friends for lunch. I’m at my desk. And I do have a few quotes and pictures hanging in front of me. I have Natalie Goldberg’s quote “Write what you really want to say,” and another by her that says “Write what disturbs you; what you fear, what you have not been wiling to speak about. Be willing to be split open.” A have a artist print from a friend that reads “Make time for your art (it’s important). And a paper sculpture inspired by this poem by Ted Kooser: The moon put her hand/over my mouth/and told me/to shut up and watch.” It’s all here. Now I just have to get myself here. Starting now.
It’s 12:14 in the morning and I am listening to fireworks. From the neighbors. And I wish I knew which neighbors, but I don’t. So I’ll stay inside and talk to you. It’s loud out there. And cold. If it was warmer I’d be tempted to go yell at someone. But now, here in the new hood, this is how it is. I probably know who it is. And I probably know that they’ll be quiet soon. And I know that I’ll fall asleep despite the noise. And I’ll go on loving this neighborhood….
Happy New Year. I wish you health and happiness in 2015.
Where do you write?
Last fall, when daughter was starting school, I went to Target and found a very pretty pink notebook. At 8.5×11, it was larger than I was used to. But I liked the idea of something more substantial; larger pages to hold my thoughts. I didn’t consider that the large size would be harder to fit it into my purse. Harder to carry around every day. Harder to hold on my lap on the couch in the evenings. But I kept plugging away. And then I stopped. I opened it up this morning to see that the last date I wrote in it was December 1. Nearly a month. Have I really been stumped for a whole month? I’ve stopped by this space here and there, but apparently I just stopped writing during the whole crazy holiday month. Which is okay. We had fun. We baked cookies. We drove around and looked at the lights. We went sledding. We had friends over. We played air hockey. But now I’m back to writing. In two days it will be January. And what else is there to do in January in Minnesota but to cuddle under a blanket (or two) in front of the fireplace and run my pen along the paper.
Will you join me?