August 6, 2008 - Down by the River

My love, mom & dad, Mira, and I decided to try the new bowling alley restaurant called The Grill. We thought it looked nice...with a cool outdoor eating area...plus, it got good reviews from a few Colliers. We are here now, and not very impressed. I'm having trouble staying present because I am wishing
I went with Jen and Joe to visit the swan couple who hang out perfectly in the lily pads of Kalamazoo Lake. I imagine them (Jen and Joe) holding hands quietly watching the swan couple make heart shapes from their gorgeous necks and faces while I try hard not to look at my dad as he attempts, as always, to hit on our waitress.

Earlier today, Bob and I had a scooter adventure. 

 Everywhere we went was goodness. My favorite stop was the pier near Mt. Baldy. It has become an accidental habit for us to sit on the bench down by the river and watch the boats go by.

The sounds always bring me back to early 1980's. Three guys were rockin out to Baba O'Riley on their party barge - probably high as kites...adding to the strength of my riverside flashback.

The breeze from the river seduced us both, as we were cuddlier and lovier than usual. Bob loves that river. Every year as we sit there, he assures himself that someday he will have a place right there on that river...with me. I know we already have it.

July 30, 2008 -At the Firehouse

I'm here at the firehouse so Bob can update our new phones. I'm not even really sure what that means. I am lucky to be loved by Bob. His truck got called out for a carbon monoxide report. I am left in the back room to babysit cell phones.

There were kids in gang colors all down 95th street asking for donations. Drug sales must be down this month.

A funny man was selling bubble guns on 95th and Stoney...filling the often threatening intersection with absurd silly goodness in the shape of five thousand floating balls of ironic joy with every pump of his ridiculous gun.

I saw a baby maple bent over from the fierce but short storm, and I denied my urge to pull over and straighten it up. Why? I am regretting that choice now. It would be cooler to write about that as something I did.

My dad came by last night to do an estimate for my neighbor's driveway repavement. He was worn out and thirsty and hungry. I gave him grape pop, a baggie of grapes (green, red, and black), and I warmed up his gross coffee. I do all of these things with a happy heart. Nothing icky is anywhere near my consciousness. Am I learning forgiveness? or have I gotten better at not identifying with the past, with people, with forms? Regardless, I can spend more moments with peace inside me. No nervousness. No discomfort. Just me.

I hear the firetruck backing in...beep beep beep beep beep beep.

July 27, 2008 - Joe and Jenny's B&B

This Morning's Antidrama Presents: 

Squirrel Trouble

The Oak Tree Highway provides rapid transit

to the show of leaves 

that periodically 

tumble down the trunk obnoxiously 

thrown by balls of busy grey fur!

Also Featuring:

A purple kayak

so still,

visiting 

of its own 

purple 

will. 

During the show

in the balcony section and

at every window sill,

Breezes pass out delicious chills

And all of this to 

the subtle 

but 

gorgeous 

sounds 

of 

The Crown Point Morning Nature Symphony Orchestra

(And a solo from a frog 

who plays a song that begins as a lonely drone, 

but ends in hope and home.)

The sun...

 providing a spotlight for it all,

bringing that magic that comes with dusk or dawn 

on perfect days. 

This is the dawn inside 

this perfect me

at Joe and Jenny's 

B&B.

July 15, 2008 - Dreaming of Mimi

Last night I dreamt of Mimi. She was fragile, after losing Papa, and we need to tie her coffee cup to hang from a door (who knows why, it's a dream, right?) We need string so I see some wrapping ribbon, black and gold, in a small mess next to a deflated balloon on a little round end table. I cut pieces of it, admiring my resourcefulness, to do the trick. Then I notice a note - I know right away it's to her, from Papa. (Papa was always writing clever little notes to his loved ones...it was the way he chose to emote.) She was holding on to that old balloon and ribbon and note for a reason. She was going to be mad at me for messing with it...for cutting those ribbons. Nothing felt worse than Mimi's disappointment. I woke up overcome with guilt for my carelessness.

I miss her soft hands and how they would close around my hand, patting tenderly --causing me to be still at a time when I didn't value being still --I didn't understand why anyone would wish to be still. But in those moments, with her hands holding me in that space, somehow I did understand. Today I will practice being in that space...and try to let go of some of the guilt that still hangs on me for losing her while she was in my care.

________________________

I suppose even today, March 10, 2012, I hold on to some of that darkness, as I can't help but cry typing these words from four years ago. It is an awkward mix of missing and wishing and regretting...all of it stinging. I am allowing it at this moment, for this brief time, and then I will imagine her, with her hands enclosing one of my own, saying, "Stop that, Gina, it's not doing you any good, now.... I'll go get us some cookies." Then we will sit down, eat her favorite meal together, and she will tell me stories of her coming of age, being courted by boys, and of her falling in love with Papa. After imagining this favorite scene, I will stop crying, smile, hug her tiny frame with my heart, and let go until the next wave.
__________________________

July 14, 2008 - Door County

Before 8 a.m. @ Leroy's

Little birds with crazy mohawks hop around my feet collecting crumbs. I would like to walk to Leroy's every morning to spend this early hour reflecting, dreaming, looking at people and little birds and six-trunked trees encircled in flagstone and surrounded by iron tables and chairs speckled in sunlight. I can see a burst of it right now in my hair that is shining on my right shoulder and a few small specks on my left knee and hand, the shadows of the tree giving it a kalidascope effect. Oh, there goes mohawk...

I think it's time to try writing again, but I have these annoying voices telling me not to waste my time...they say, "you have no memory for details...writers remember details...and you're not really interesting or exotic in any way...no one has anything to learn from you...unless they needed a little help writing a high school-level essay, figuring out what the hell Shakespeare was trying to say, or determining what the character Piggy symbolizes in Lord of the Flies."

It is so like my own ego to beat me down...pretending to warn me about wasting time...but really is  it afraid I might discover something amazing?...like I am not my ego? Then where would it be? At least, sometimes, I can recognize it for what it is now. If only I could shut it up completely.

Up! Mohawk just came back - all squeaky and adorable - taking me away from my "self" for a moment. I love you, Mohawk.

I'm aching to connect with new people in a more natural way. I am hiding behind my earphones and my notebook. It's like being alone inside a movie...or one of those dreams where you are in it, but not in it...no one can see or hear you. I feel safe this way, invulnerable. But I risk nothing and form no new relationships. I wonder why I am leary of new relationships.

I notice dog owners seem more willing to reach out. They seem happier. But are they hiding behind their pets the way I hide behind my notebook and earphones? The way I used to hide behind cigarettes? Interesting. What are we all so afraid of?