Simply Women
The women who fortify me gather ‘round like a virtual pashmina ~ never at the same time yet always ~ and they whisper their support through the years as a strong wind at my back pushing me forward and a gentler headwind keeping me upright.
It comes in forms unexpected that rush about with an easy chatter. A bag of groceries and Smithwick’s on my front step when I have been crying all day and am too weary to shop. Soft fingertips through my hair but without the expectation. Salty chicken soup that makes my home smell like home. “Drive by hugs.” Butterfly bushes to welcome me to a new chapter. Safely guarded childhood memories of four – singing sharp, the LifeSaver Game, and buckwheat pancakes after a night in contraband Jordache jeans. Kindness in the absence of judgment when my legs won’t carry me as fast or as far on a run together. Frosting on our noses at every black tie occasion. Pasta with fresh basil and none of the effort while I nurse my newborn twins in front of the bay window. The courageous and honest question I should have answered honestly before venturing down the aisle.
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Let's take her to the Lake...
True girlfriends can’t always be there when you need them. Sometimes they don’t even know that you do. But, the very second that they either suspect or realize that you are in trouble they step in with an earnest desire to support or at least to understand; and they most certainly never minimize you or set you aside for convenience.
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My First Breath ~ Again
There is one universal thing that we all do as our first act in this world. Breathe. Some of us come to it naturally as if we have waited lifetimes in the womb to fill our lungs with air; embracing this change. Others need a violent smack on the bottom to bring it about. But, regardless of how we arrive we all start the same way. We take a breath.
I am finding during these past many days, months and years under extreme pressure I have apparently forgotten how. I am at an age when many of my friends are talking about biofeedback, yoga, and meditation as if to finesse the art. I would just settle for “in” and “out”. I’m not trying to finesse anything. I’m simply trying to remember how to do it.
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Olfactory Day in Review
Tide and bounce on my pillow case smell of morning and night at the same time. Tugging somehow to pull me both in and out of the day.
In won.
Coffee beans. Banished before. Necessary now. Three weeks of illness make it difficult to wake. A sick day ahead ‘to rest’.
Newsprint on my hands smells of braggios ink impatiently screaming the day’s news and the oily smell of ‘wash me’.
Joy dishwashing soap with lemon.
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She Called to Me
Trees are something more to me.
The weeping willow that held court for my dolls at age three. The white birch in mom’s front yard too lazy to hold its bark and too apathetic to betray my summer secrets. The cork tree at Colgate University with its low-stretching, cradle-shaped branches that rocked me while I wept for four difficult years. The affable oak at old Roy’s farm where the cows still gossip and I leave my troubles.
Trees have always been something more to me. But this one is special.
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14 Months
Tonight I decided to stay home and nurture myself. I made homemade marinara sauce and the house smells lovely; like basil. I tried a new red wine that is just dry enough with a hint of berry. And I drew myself a warm lavender bath with candles. I nursed my cold with some decongestant ~ the third cold of this winter which tells me my resistance is down. And now, I’m in my PJs with my hands on the keyboard and the fireplace glowing. This cushy white bathrobe that Padraic chose to comfort me during some difficult times last year is coming in handy now. And I am crying. Finally.
During this unspeakable year I have hardly been able to cry at all. For those of you who know me well it will come as no surprise that, in a very practical way, I actually scheduled ‘crying time’ into my day because I knew it was essential to my own healing. But then? Nothing.
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