On Tuesday, over butternut squash
soup and a half of a steak tartine
(the special at Café 37),
My high school friend lamented her recent bout with shingles.
“It could have been worse! At least I had the shot!” she whined.
I thought of all the shots she had had….
the teenage pregnancy, the philandering husband,
he husband’s dialysis, the divorce,
the second marriage, the divorce. Lots of shots.
And my own inoculations….different, but definitely as difficult.
Certainly they should have inoculated me!
Certainly after all those traumas and “learning experiences”
I should have been well- inoculated against the pain and itch of
But sometimes, I guess, the shots just don’t do it!
The laundry needs “tending to”
The house “picked up”
The plants “nourished”
The papers “taken care of “ ….
The stove “minded”….
How often does the habit of “mothering” preclude mindfulness?
Yesterday my little boy and I had lunch at a restored railroad station in an oh-so-pretty little town in New Jersey….
Picturesque it was.
Cocooned in the gingerbread fantasy…. merlot-colored walls warmed our hearts and curlicued windows threw the October sun in our faces…..
We laughed and interrupted each other as we always have….never at a loss for words or stories or GREAT INSIGHTS.
Maybe a hundred years ago lovers sat here, hating to part…or waited impatiently for the next train to arrive.
They couldn’t have been happier or sadder than me with my
Nearly thirty- three year old boy who (with his own lover by his side) is journeying to stations I will never visit.
(But, I know the hot chocolate will taste as good!)
We used to inhabit over-lit offices and classrooms
Chafing at the numbing lack of freedom…
Now, free as a bird, we
Propel ourselves out into the grey rain,
Obdurate against the leaden sky…
Struggling to find the light in this hard-won “freedom”
We didn’t need the MRI to tell us…..
The electric pain shouted down our resistance.
Yet, we wondered ….
Would those thera-bands and hot packs….
And the oh-so-painfully ecstatic manipulations of the clairvoyant PT
The soreness of our hearts
The stiffness of our souls?
It took six decades
To design the vehicle that we took for granted…
And now, after all that,
Is it just a matter of herniated and bulging discs?
I want my money back!
I need philosophical…not physical therapy!!
I don’t think of myself as a poet.
But, sometimes a casual observation, or a mood, or a particular event wakes me from the
of the day and I feel a bit more aware of the life I am living.
I am finding that I look forward to the moment that will be the “keeper”.
The moment I can later capture in a few words.
Scribbling, rambling, sketching with words, I explore the thought or the image— much as my friends who are artists do with “quick sketches” during the course of a walk.
I would love to have you join me in writing a poem a day…or a week.…
Life lived consciously feels so much livelier! Please do share your “keepers”!