Consent for Continuum

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Expecting A and receiving R, sending L and understanding that it was perceived as D. Do we stay stuck at our point on the line or adjust toward that where we actually landed? Events happen that are beyond our wants, our controls, our expectations. We are not firmly planted on any singly point. We may attempt to shore up a foundation around us and pile anything that may anchor us to our claimed positon, but the winds may blow, the waters may rise, or if we're lucky, we may spot something interesting on the horizon that lures us to venture further down the road and take a look, leaving behind that which held us firm.

The new point of landing can be unfamiliar and uncomfortable for a time. Nothing seems to fit, the temperature isn't right. I choose to examine my place on the continuum and learn from my new position. I give consent to move along the continuum, knowing that there are hazards and risks, but the benefits exceed the complications of such.

Great Words

I've been trying to wrap up the financial aspect of my father's life. Most of the pieces are falling into place. The taxes are done. I've figured out that there will never be enough to pay the bills. So that's how that goes. I spoke (again) today with the woman who works in the Benefits Office at his former employer. I asked her (again) to give me an update on one of his policies. She hemmed and hawed (again) and finally told me that she'd lost his death certificate.

Silence from me. I could hear her clear her throat on the other end of the line. I finally told her that I was flabbergasted.

Isn't that a great word? Flabbergasted just about said it all. I could have said flummoxed, but flummoxed doesn't roll off the tongue as easily. It kind of gets stuck in there behind what could be an impending pucker and then comes out as a guttural something or other that doesn't pack that much punch. No, flabbergasted was perfect.

She told me she'd fix this mistake as soon as I get another copy to her. I will - tomorrow.

After I hung up the phone, I decided to come up with a few more words that I like today. They are, in no particular order:

slink,

ashram,

hullaballoo,

fizzle,

and

clobber.

Risk Beats Fear (grown up paper/rock/scissors)

“Loving can cost a lot but not loving always costs more, and those who fear to love often find that want of love is an emptiness that robs the joy from life.” Merle Shain

This morning I am aware of pockets of emptiness. I suppose that is better than the gaping hole, a seeming unfillable void, I've felt in the remote past. I wonder, as I type this if I'm even feeling "empty" so much as "ready". I'm thinking of the measuring cups in my cabinets. There is a feeling I get when I reach to pull one out and know that I will fill it with something - flour, or cocoa - some ingredient that will combine with the others to create a rich product after I've stirred it properly and allowed it to bake long enough. I have potential to fill these places in me, I'm not empty. Not really.

I took a risk last week and allowed myself to admit that I was attracted to someone and I went on one of those things that seemed to be a real date. You know what I'm talking about: wine, dinner, conversation over a couple of hours. A proper hug ended the evening and there was talk of seeing a movie the next week. This was no stranger. This was someone who was part of my circle of friends and we'd been slowly getting to know one another. Our other friends seemed to think we'd be right for each other and were watching from the periphery to see if any sparks would fly whenever the gang got together. I thought they did. I guess I was wrong.

Despite texts the day after the dinner, even meeting up to look at art the very next day...last night's movie didn't happen. At least it didn't happen between him and me. It happened with another friend and me. I feel bad about our other friends. I feel like they're going to feel awkward. I feel bad about my thinking there was more. I felt bad about wanting more.

But then I read the quote by Merle Shain (above). I DO want more. I can't apologize for wanting a life with someone who is a great guy. (He is, after all - a great guy.) I can't feel bad about wanting to be happy. That would really be silly in my books. The thing is, if I don't try, I'll never succeed. If I settle for less than what works for both of us, I'll end up in my remote past right here in my present. That is void and that is impossible. I move on and I live in gratitude for the friend who understands me and spent Friday evening with me. I had a wonderful time at dinner with someone who, like me, couldn't figure out why the girl who took our orders couldn't make eye contact. I was able to tell him (before the movie started) that I was disappointed, but not despondent, and that getting older and being alone is one of my biggest fears. I watched the movie with a quirky person like me, who leaned over and whispered to me at the times when the dialogue was the very funniest. I have a well of strength to draw from in my small group of friends that is deeper than I can even begin to imagine. They know that they can expect the same from me. I am fully aware that not everyone can say that. I have the ingredients for a successful and happy life all around me, in fact I am living it. I cannot dwell on those little pockets of emptiness for they are simply places of potential that lie in wait. Patience, Michelle. Patience and recognition of the grace that has already filled the void.

Finding Words

I've written so little since my father died. Recently, as I gowned and gloved for a big surgical case, a surgeon asked me why I haven't sent him any of my work. He's interested in the pieces I write that bring my morbid fascination with body parts and near death and the beauty of surgery all into a tidy poetic package. I told him that since Dad's death I'm just not motivated, that I can't seem to find my muse. Truth is that I've been so tired. I've been going home after work and falling onto my couch, then into my bed. I've had no energy for words.

Slowly this is changing. I've been sleeping better. I'm running again. I've been out with friends - often. They tell me I'm much more like my old self, and have been for weeks. Yesterday the words flowed from me in a happy, familiar way. I turned the stereo off and enjoyed the tap-tap of my keyboard as I filled the screen in front of me with line after line of what may be good. I think it's good. At the very least, it felt good.

Emergence

As spring makes itself known again on the Gulfcoast, pollen scatters over the city and declares that the most popular automobile color will be yellow for the next few weeks. I find myself stretching toward the sun with the determination of a lily - or an iris - that's waited quietly for the right moment to show my true self to the world.

I am once again alive - purple, red, blue, piercing white. I flutter in the breeze that turns me toward each next wonder. Mockingbirds chatter across the branches of magnolias, sounding certain in their call to each other, no hesitation in their communication. A boy and his father hold hands as they walk down the street. The boy is careful to jump over the cracks and the father lifts him slightly with each little hop. A heron stands on one leg in the bayou. Water swirls around him in tiny eddies. I think, "How long he will be there?" He lifts his wings and swoops away, under the bridge and out of my sight.

Leaning against a birch I feel my own contrast with the bark, the earth, and the sky. Inhaling, the bright blue of the early afternoon fills me with a swirling of life that has waited for me patiently for months. The crescent daylight moon catches my eye and welcomes me home.