Monday, August 29, 2011

we're not in disney anymore: 54

i wish sometimes i lived in a disney movie. not because i want the happy ending... though that would be nice, but in a disney world, i would have a feathered pencil writing in the air what i was thinking, while i was washing the dishes or driving to or from work (no, i won't text while driving.. well, not often.) or watching the winds whip around the house.

i have not posted in over a week, but it's not without thinking about it. in the past week i have thought about much, but without that feathered pen hovering in the air to take my mind dictation, much has been lost, i'm afraid.

if i had that pen, i'm sure she would scrawl across the page in nice neat letters that i have, in the past week:

turned 54, felt an earthquake for the first time, been whipped by a hurricane (my 3rd or 4th), watched on tv as tides cut swaths and culverts in fairly good but vulnerable roads i used to travel. watched as irene took various members of my family hostage on the east coast from north carolina to new york. in this same week have walked the dog and bought groceries and picked up sticks in the yard and made supper for my neighbor and read a few chapters in a good book and finished a mediocre one. eaten homemade ice cream and met a new neighbor. watched a 9/11 special on national geographic HD and cried about that for so many reasons i can't even write about them all.

watched antique road show and found a lady who owns a table worth more than my house. seen pictures of trees i knew as a child felled in the street and on houses, warned a friend of an approaching tornado because she still has no electricity, offered shelter that wasn't needed and cooked at least four meals for my husband and me and one for my son and his friend. made pimento cheese. cried a couple of times i am sure and have changed the channel more than once, have scratched the dog's stomach and his muzzle and have thrown the ball to him. have missed my daughter. shown my bad manners. interrupted, though i didn't mean to. celebrated and consoled as two friends left their youngest at college. and have not heard much of what my husband has said to me, despite my hearing aids. probably irritated a few people though they have not said so.

i have, tonight, shared our last tomato with the man i've shared a life with for 30 years, lamenting instead of celebrated the fact that the dozens of tomatoes (and years?) we were able to grow are actually now gone. i have in the past three days stripped the bed of sheets, washed and folded them and i have forgotten to pick up no less than five pairs of shoes from the family room floor. i have forgotten at least one load of laundry in the washer that i'll have to wash again. i have lost sleep and dreamed of the misunderstandable, the embarrassing and the possible and have forgotten more than i recall.  i have been to church, on sunday/monday/ tuesday/wednesday/thursday/sunday and monday again, not because i am am that devout but because my job is there. i have shut the door of my office (which i almost never do) and when i have sat in the pew on the past couple of sundays i have let my mind wander too long. i have hugged two of my favorite three year olds, thank goodness.

waited too long at a restaurant and listened while my husband complained. had too much artificial  sweeter in my unsweet tea, thought about our 30 years together and wished i felt more passionate about that fact. had a few hot flashes despite my patch.  have eaten way too much.

watched iron chef and understood that i really don't want to cook that way, made ina garten's tomato and goat cheese tart my own way was glad i did. wished i didn't have to count the calories in the puff pastry, but i do. started (and just about abandoned) a new morning exercise routine, have gone into work a full hour early and stayed later than i wish because it is that time of year.

listened and counseled and complained and kicked the copier. i have snooped and sighed (too many times), answered the wrong number but not called it. thrown away mail and kept newspapers, still have not picked up my dining room of all the clutter left there for three weeks. i have seen hummingbirds in the yard and wondered where my bluebirds went. found a tiny frog in the hurricane debris and wondered where his mother was. listened to the cicadas. given bad advice.

remembered that i was born on a thursday in the middle of the night, and though my father is a doctor he missed my birth because he was tending to another patient, that's ok. have celebrated the fact of my life twice with friends and once with family and thanked my parents and God for giving it to me all those years ago. have tried to help my dad learn gmail and have worried about both my parents when they lost power during Irene.

and more than once thought that if only i had that feathered pencil in the air i could actually finish one of the books i'm writing and still get my day job done.

i have wished and wanted, lamented, worried and complained, have given and got and tried to smile in the pictures, though i am never happy with the end result. torn ribbons and paper and laughed at cards until i did in fact wet my pants.

if only the feathered pen could be there for me, ever hovering, i could write it all.