A silence settled into my brain on Monday, driving out the scream that's been present since April 5th. I'm slowing everything down while at the same time everything is revving up to a frantic pace: I'm working full-time, refinancing my house (in a not-easy way, unfortunately), having work done on my house, planning my mother-in-law's funeral reception, and getting unmarried.
The interior design currently on display is post-hurricane, mid-century tornado, early cyclone.
Tonight in my bathroom I killed a spider that had fur. FUR. (At first I thought it was a black seed-pod that had blown in.)
A turbulent wind blows this late June night, knocking down a broken mirror I'd leaned against the house, on its way to the garbage, cracking it even more. There are now tiny reflective bits on the deck. An image appears in each shard: an eye, a leaf, a cloud. No barefoot midnight prowls for me, apparently. (As If.)
Next Monday we declare our independence in the red/white/blue trio, and I'm attempting to generate a grilling spirit, a watermelon mood, a corn-on-the-cob enthusiasm for a day when I'll end up working because we're four weeks from a Big Show and backed-up with orders. Maybe I'll treat myself to getting off an hour early so I can come home, pour myself a patriotic martini (Russian vodka) in my Waterford (Irish) martini glass. And sing the Marseillaise (en français).
It's all a scatter & a spectacle, turned inside-out and running backwards down the highway.
Wow. The yin and yang of it all. The surreal aspects a counterpoint the the practical necessities of getting on with life. You have done admirably, T. I think you should take off an hour early (maybe two) and enjoy that martini in your Waterford crystal.
ReplyDelete(Ha Ha. I used to have Waterford. Guess who got it all?)
If I could whisk you away to a tropical isle, I would. You deserve a treat, a break, a vacation, and so much more. Bless you. I bow down to your awesomeness!
Incredible writing, here, and I'm with you every word.
ReplyDeleteI can also sing the entire Marseillaise with you, as I still remember it from seventh grade French.
At times it seems to be fragments, unconnected, the shards reflecting, the things "other people" are doing...with the chance to pull back, there is a pattern, there are links. I can join you and Elizabeth in singing, but only the first and last parts. Somehow, I've lost the middle. xo
ReplyDeleteYou. Are. Astounding.
ReplyDeleteThat you have handled all this while screaming at the shredding of life and self. I am in awe.
From over here it's incomprehensible that anyone could voluntarily eschew the prize that is you.
Love, C.
Tara, I still have some Waterford Champagne flutes, gifts from LAC -- the only items I'll have in my house associated with her. The martini glass was a gift from the friends I visited in Port Townsend last weekend :)
ReplyDeleteTara, ps, she was stealing from Chuck to buy them! What a world.
ReplyDeleteElizabeth, Marylinn: How about 7pm, Monday? A conjoined bloggers Marseillaise?!
ReplyDeleteFoxessa, I am undone by your comment. (In a good way.)
ReplyDeleteBlessings.
xo
Ah the winds of change are a-blowin' T.
ReplyDeleteGrowth only comes out of chaos.
In Lightening VIII, Seamus Heaney said "...and he climbed out of the marvellous,as we had known it"
I believe you are just stepping into it!
Jacqueline, I love Heaney's work....
ReplyDeleteThose words of his are transformational.
I'm glad you stopped by.
xo
T, what I love about this post is its insistence on engagement, despite the scream, the unraveling, the losses. you are a force, an example, one i need tonight. bless you. thank you.
ReplyDeleteYou have such courage in you, T., to bear with the unscreamed scream and still stand, self-possessed and radiating life. With admiration.
ReplyDelete