At my house, if I choose to sit on the front steps, there are musicians across the street playing Old-Timey American music, anticipating Fiddle Tunes at Centrum, which begins Sunday. Not a bad choice.
In the back of my house, on my balcony, there's a view of the lake and rooftops and mountains, and two giant green parakeets just tweeted (not twittered!) by; and a little boy is running back and forth in the alley, carrying one very long stick. Chanting from the Kollel. (This is where I sit.)
There's a clarity of light whichever location I choose -- these are the spectacular temperate days of summer that we enjoy here in Seattle. Little humidity; it's 70 degrees at 7:33pm, and barely a breeze ripples the grape vines.
My son is cooking a salmon filet, my vodka-tonic is due for refreshing, and I'm trying hard to turn in this new direction away from Mr. Soon-To-Be-Deleted, attempting to delete him from memory. If only I could backspace him from my consciousness....
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The plans for the funeral trudge, stuck in the thickest of muds. Death makes people fall down, and someone to whom I'm close has fallen down and calls me in the falling-down state, which is difficult. Patience. Someone has a date with the Grim Reaper. (Not me!) (Or, rather, we all do, but just won't look at that day on the calendar.) Some of us egg the Grim Reaper on, taunt him, dare him. (Or is the Grim Reaper female?)
In any case, all plans are up in the air. What I do know is that, in spite of one of the coldest springs on record, my tomato plants have tiny green fruits beginning to swell, and my pumpkin plants, though tiny, have indeed sprouted. A painter is going to schedule some work next week, which will clean up a lot. My dearest of friends Tom has been doing odd jobs for me, and wants payment only in home-cooked meals. The problem there is that I seem to have lost all interest in cooking, which, while it contributes to a reduction in the waistline, doesn't exactly lead to sumptuous feasts.
The kitten continues to delight and amaze. Even when I resolutely Do Not Want To Laugh, she coaxes a giant guffaw from me, unquestionably goofy and cheerful. How did I manage to happen upon this marvelous creature? I am blessed.
You really do have a lot on your shoulders at the moment. It never rains; but pours!
ReplyDeleteIt may not be practical or convenient, but after the funeral (and release), you should take a short holiday alone, somewhere quiet. Deserted sandy beaches do wonders for the soul.
WV fookedr
Often, in the stillness of just sitting, something inside does indeed shift or turn. You are in a good place with the music, and the parakeets, and the clear light, and the darling kitten. Whenever you can, just sit and observe. One day you will notice that a bright new horizon looks a whole lot closer than it did before.
ReplyDeleteI think you are already getting to that new bright horizon.....You are beginning to see that perhaps the change was a good one and albeit sudden, you have surfaced now and can see the light!
ReplyDeleteIma
Nita Lou's comment hits the nail on the head. Though perhaps you might prefer to hit soon-to-be-deleted on the head.
ReplyDeleteoh, tell me the salmon was delicious.....
...sometimes the most powerful of help comes in the tiniest of packages...
ReplyDeleteMew mew mew purr-purr meow!
ReplyDeleteYour home sounds lovely at this most lovely time of year.
Well all times of the year are lovely in many places (spring in Albuqueque with sandstorms isn't) like where you are, the Eastern Shore, and even NYC. Just different kinds.
But the lovelyness of a lovely summer day, summer dusk, summer evening and night -- very heaven.
Love, C.