Morning Page

It's morning time. Haven't written too much, been letting the days slip by unrecorded. That can be a good thing sometimes, taking a break from being the observer and getting into the middle of the moment, sinking right in and not worrying about capturing it; instead allowing it to run...to happen. 

The observer doesn't go away, but the recorder, now that one takes breaks. Sometimes there are so many small moments that they spill out into the air flying up and away.

I can hear the trucks in the distance along with a muffled bang bang... Construction underway. I hear the hush of the morning, my husband breathing, the birds chirping off in the distance; I hear the day yawning, rubbing its great blue eyes awake.

I lie here in the dark, light gently peeking through the gaps in the blinds as I tap out the morning on this small wonder of technology, holding it in the palm of my hand as I greet the day. 

Thursday Walk

Walked the reservoir on Thursday. Nice. Not too many people. The clouds...a toddler fascinated with the line on the trail. The divide between one way and the other: not right or left, just this way or that. She stared, fixated, at that thick white line, pondered it. A dog caught her attention. At least 10 paces ahead, I kept looking back, watching with wonder, hope, lightness...looking back, walking forward; looking forward, walking...

Change

Dear Words,

I feel that our relationship is changing.

I want to read you more than I want to write you, but that's not entirely true–it changes day by day, inch by inch.

Dear Words, you've been good to me; you've been there when I needed you most. We've been good to each other. You've helped me see myself, brought me close to my mother, allowed me to bring my thoughts and feelings to life, to give them a voice.

Change is a doubled edged sword–pardon the cliche, dear Words.

In some ways, I've gone back into my little shell, keeping you closed inside but not entirely and–my solace found more and more, more even than before–in the stories in those books that I've come back to, new ones I've entered.

Oh, dear Words! How good it feels to talk with you–I know you'll always understand. I know you will know what I don't and that even though our relationship may change and keep changing, it will still be there–alive–to nourish us. All we have to do is write.

**

Because...there is a certain comfort...because even as I think this and write this, already we have changed. Change. Change, Change! 

The same and different.

  

Untitled

Life is a tangled

thorn of roses.

Clearing the path,

we must keep

some of the thorns–

a balance between

joy and pain. 

At the end of the path, 

I see a beautiful rose–

velvet petals unfolding,

sitting upon a perfect stem

with thorns that look strong and

handsome. 

All of life comes

to a still point in 

that one rose

that carries my

gaze into

eternity.

Giggles in my Heart

There's no better sound to lift the spirits than a child's laughter.

On my way to the library I saw a little boy of about five or six walking with his father–going to the same place. The father, walking by his son's side, put his hand upon the boy's head; the boy quickened his step, the father did the same, holding his hand in place on his son's head. The boy began giggling, walking faster, then running, the father kept up, hand in place, more hysterical giggles. 

I walked into the library behind them with giggles in my heart.

One Slender Book

I heard my name through the intercom. I left the bookshelf and walked to the back counter to see what the offer was. I wasn't expecting much, maybe three dollars for three small bags of books. I set my expectations low, knowing anything more would be a bonus. 

Twenty-two dollars–not bad.

I saw my stacks of books there. I felt a slight pang and wanted to reach for them and take them back. No, I reasoned, it was time to let them go. And there would be more in due time because there are books for keeping and books for giving up. The buyer looked at the one nearest me.

"Did you read this one?"

I placed my hand on top of the slender book.

"This one? Yes–in parts. I probably didn't give it the attention it deserved."

Where did this come from. I had read it, but it was so long ago. 

"It reminds me of–" He rattled off a few unknown names, more independents. She wanted to reach for her notebook, so she could jot them down and look them up later. Instead, she nodded, listened, saw the excitement in his face.

He turned back to his register to complete the transaction.

"I really like the cover art," she said.

"Yeah. It's beautiful. Reminds me of a friend's book. He was in an MFA program and this cover reminds me of one of his."

"Ah, I actually found this one at the Berkeley Museum of Art's bookstore. They had a small section of books that were on sale. 

"Oh, yeah–really?"

I signed my name and took the receipt to the middle of the store and cashed in on the books I sold.

Those hummingbirds–that book–that I did read: one poem contained within its slender, white casing–a rumination that I read so long ago remembering the beautiful jacket cover more than the words inside; though, from flipping through the first few pages, just before saying goodbye, just before placing it inside the bag, just before placing it back out into the world–the words were ethereal, they beat like the wings of a butterfly and shimmered like the coat of a hummingbird, now out of my hands, but in memory–as a bitter sweet parting.

 

I Can See Clearly

I feel like I've been suckered; and the worst of it is, I've been suckered by my own self. 

My eyes have been bothering me, especially when I'm reading on the computer screen. I made an appointment with the eye doctor. It's been almost three years since my last appointment. I figured my eyes had gotten slightly worse, so I anticipated having to buy a new pair of glasses. 

Choosing a new pair of glasses is exhausting. There are so many styles to choose from.  I like my old glasses but thought maybe it was time for a change, something fun and different from the old frame. The woman who was helping me, chose some cute options, but then I noticed she kept bringing me glasses with flashy handles–too complicated for me. I tried on a few that were almost identical to the current frame. Then I tried a few options just to see what they would look like, knowing they wouldn't suit me. I tried on a black pair wasn't perfectly round or square, sort of a little bit of both. The woman really liked these. She said that most people that have tried them on didn't look right in them. They were cute in a non-cute way. I had already tried on so many glasses and this pair qualified as different from my old pair. Sold. 

Next I needed a pair of computer glasses. When I had the eye examination, that's what the doctor said. My other choice was a bifocal or transition lens. I said No. That wouldn't work for me, I'll need a separate pair of glasses. It seems ridiculous to need a whole separate pair of glasses for reading on the computer! But, that's why I was feeling the strain. I don't need all the strength of my everyday glasses.

Since I had collected several frames in the little plastic box they provided while I searched, I didn't need go start from scratch. I looked in the box and chose the frame for my second pair of glasses. 

I wear prescription sunglasses too and wasn't about to buy a new frame. So my existing sun glasses get fitted with new lenses. 

I feel like the excitement of getting a new pair of glasses, left my reasoning ability at the door. I could have made different choices and saved money, but I got caught up in the process. I had my credit card ready. I could have taken advantage of a better deal, but no, I was caught up in the idea of these new glasses and how it was a change and they were cute in a different way. I didn't want similar if I couldn't have the same.

If only I could have seen as clearly as I did when I saw those great pine trees and the moon that same morning. If only I could have had my practical, thrifty mind with me. Now, I'll only see dollar signs and unnecessary indulgence.