Dumpster Rat Has Nothing On Me

I have been making trips to the dumpster, throwing out - all through the night. The air is so warm and thick, it feels like velvet. It gives a false sense of safety, out here alone in a parking lot at 2:00 AM.

I carry a box, stuffed with a feather bed that has, at one time or another, kept all of us warm. Inside the box are photos, old, that no one wants. There too, are the three small pillows, hand sewn and embroidered with each of my girls' names. There is the big pot that offered batch after batch of vegetable soup, always eagerly received; and cup cake pans that once held ladybug treats for a classroom of first- graders.

I drop it all in the dumpster, the noise of the pot and pans, muffled by photos, feather

bed and tiny pillows. The history of my life, in a nondescript clankety- clank. I am dizzy from the heat, dizzy from fatigue, heartache.

I wobble a little, backward and look down, seeing that I have stepped on a stripped ear of corn. I think of the rat that had been dining before I interrupted.

 
"Is this your home?" I whisper into the dumpster where I know she is hiding, corn in her teeth.

There is a soft rustle, a burrowing down. Her answer. I imagine she has lived here all her life. And her mother before that and her mother before that...

"Lucky you," I tell the rat, meaning it.

I walk across the courtyard up the stairs, jealous of a rat, unseen. 

I curl up on the floor of my apartment, furniture all gone, knowing it is one of my last nights here. I am out of tears.

 I steer my thinking away from a decrepit car and a nowhere job. I let my mind wrap around my family, all that I have. I think of my parents, ancient and wonderful.  I see my dad's face, handsome still at 88, pride etched in every crease. I see my mom, and the softness in her gray eyes. My girls' bright smiles, sparkle at me, as if in a dream, but I know I am still awake; sleep doesn't come this easy. I reach for them and their genuine devotion. My grandbaby scampers by in these thoughts, wearing that look, that shows she knows it is her divine right to be adored. 

I am so tired. I find the thin blanket on the floor next to me. I pull it up to my shoulders, tuck it under my chin. It is familiar and welcoming and comfortable, like love itself. It is where I live. I have lived in love my entire life. Lucky me, so very lucky me. I rest my head on the one pillow that hasn't yet hit the dumpster. It is so soft; it cradles my head, like I am somebody.

just a whisper

in the morning hush
the seed cracks ever slightly
sprouting hope today

Tuesday's Grace

I sit with two cats
and sip pale coffee
from a Honu mug
savoring the wishes
that came
with the gift

Squirrels leap
from rooftop
to branch and
cheer about
their perfect
landing

Good books
and a red bowl of
rubber duckies
are at my feet

So much, it
is all so much
I lift my face
toward the
morning sun
and breathe

Prayer in a Night Wind

flicker flames of candles near 

dance out heartache, fend off fear

speak to me, through the trees

whirl through limbs, rustle leaves 

bend branches down to reach me

teach me faith, teach me, teach me

carry courage to my skin

wave my hair, lift my chin

dry all tears from my face

call me, pull me

take me home

promise lightness

to my bones

show me how

tell me now

speak to me 

through the trees

sing me answers

in a breeze

        

                                  

Talking to Tomatoes

There you are. Just one tiny tomato, dangling. Yellow-green, firm and adorable. Like a child, knowing only now - you swing in morning breezes. Bird songs echo. Morning light bathes and all is right in your little tomato world. 

You assume water will come and sun will shine and are oblivious of bad bugs that for now, are busy elsewhere.

Tomato baby, it isn't courage at all that empowers you to grow.  It's just trust, isn't it? Faith, that you will be, all that you are meant to be. 

                           

My Turn to Say Grace

                                                               


Today my baby girl, my youngest, 18, was happy. Relaxed and down to her toes contented. It was so nice to see her sitting outside in the sun next to her PopPop, talking, laughing, so grown up ...

Today was a perfect day because of that. All I want, really (besides a grand wish for all of humanity's peace and comfort) is for my kids to be happy, healthy, safe. How little is required for all of the pieces to slide perfectly into place. I sit on my little balcony and commune with the couple of trees that bend my way. There is a cat by my feet, grateful for the breeze and the tease of birds in view.  I don't need to know where we will live in a few months or if our cars will hold up or what I will do without health insurance, or if I will ever find work that can sustain us. All I really need to know, is that right this minute, all is right with our small slice of the world.

An Evening with Mr. Springsteen

 On January 24th my sister sent me this text: Philly...March 28,29!@!!!!!!!!@! On Saturday January 28th at 8:44 AM she sent me this text: Im setting up the puter...made sure temp files are deleted printer ready...on site but in a cue already.

There was no need for explanation. Springsteen was coming to town. My sister, a die-hard fan, was gearing up for the online battle to grab a pack of four coveted tickets.

For the past 27 years or so, my sister and nieces and I have faithfully found a way to see the Boss every time he comes to Philly. While my sister sat at her computer waiting, biting her lip, fidgeting for her turn in line to nab the tickets, she would send me periodic texts. One being this: I can measure my life by his concerts.

There is a lot of truth to that.  I thought back to the first time we saw the Boss; We, still young, our nieces, even younger and all of us, so excited. My mom was going to watch my toddler at the time and we were pretty much ready to walk out the door when my mom tripped and fell.  She had an enormous bruise on her side and was pretty upset. My sister and I later confessed that the second thought that popped into our minds after "Is she ok?"was  "Will we still be able to go?"

Many years later with kids grown, and my sister newly widowed, the four of us stood at a new venue in Philly. We quietly surrounded my sister, a subtle hand squeeze here and there, as Bruce sang Working on a Dream, a song that she always associates with her late husband.

For me, Springsteen's lyrics have energized me when down, let me know I am still cool no matter how old I get, and surely can take my worries away as I roll down the windows and let the wind blow back my hair.  My favorite CD, The Rising, has carried me over more than a few rough spots.  The Nothing Man, lets me know that no matter what, the sky is still the same unbelievable blue. And City of Ruins, affirmed that with these hands and a lot of faith, I can do just about anything.

So tonight, with vintage tee shirts washed and free of dust and the smell of cedar, my sister and nieces and I will punctuate the syllables of Badlands with our fists in the air. We'll reclaim our youth for a few short hours and celebrate life in all of its mystery - with the Boss.  Sounds like a plan, right?

In Celebration of Flies in Late December

When my toddler grandbaby girl leaves after a long day of visiting, my back aches, yes, but so do my arms and not from holding her. The minute she and her mom, my beautiful first born,  drive off - my arms are painfully empty; they already ache to hold her. These arms have had the privilege of holding her throughout the day, whether she is marveling at planes overhead, sucking on a bottle or listening to books by the bushel. 

I think back over our day as they pull  away and I find myself standing alone in the parking lot, smiling like a fool. Who else on this planet would I stand with (for a full ten minutes) watching flies crawl on daisy- mums in late December? I still hear the emotion in her tiny voice, both repulsed and over-joyed, "ewww, eww, ewwww!" It is impossible to worry about such things as never-ending divorce issues when I am in the midst of moments like that. Such is the power of 25 pounds of innocent energy.  

It takes me at least a half hour when I come back into my apartment to stop looking for her. I startle every few minutes, afraid that she might be tugging on electrical cords, or tasting pennies or reaching to pull the laptop off the table. It is a decidedly lonelier place when she leaves. 

 We gathered pine cones today and wrapped up little presents for her mom and dad.  These are bedraggled, sticky, and perfect. I think how happily my heart beats now that she is in the world - a stubborn little girl who has come to us out of the blue because my girls and I all needed her to be here. God sent us re-enforcement, adding another link to this small circle of broken- hearted women. A mighty link, brand new and in love with this world, a world where pine cones are really truly treasures and flies are still abuzz with wonder.

On Gumballs, Divorce, Hair Dye and Resilience - the Complexity of Being a Wrinkled Girl

I am the one nobody notices, strolling along water's edge at the Jersey Shore in July.  I am a  body of energy at the mall on Black Friday, walked passed and bumped into, but never seen. I am the woman the Verizon guy can absolutely see straight through. I am invisible. I am that fifty- something lady.  

But here is a secret the beach-goers, the shoppers and the cable man will never know: There among them is a woman who is every age that she ever was. For I am the six year old who loves the bright color and clank of gumballs.  I'm the teen who dances, alone in her room. I'm the twenty- two year old who works at being mysterious and the thirty year old longing for a man's hands to hold her "like a bunch of flowers".*  I am the forty-eight year old who dyes away fear with a box of  Loreal hair color. I am the fifty- four year old still standing after the cataclysmic collapse of a 29 year marriage. I am invincible (my spirit at least).  I am a wrinkled girl.

 I am not speaking multiple personality here - nothing that scary. But who I was, once- upon- a- time, is still right here with me, filtering life through all those precious perspectives. Some women are not so lucky, and lose touch with "their girl", the separation making them brittle and stiff -lipped, and well,  just old. How wonderful if each one of us could, at will, summon up that girl again, and twirl with her on a summer's night, squealing over sparklers and lightening bugs alike.

I am so grateful that "the girl " who started my journey, has stayed by my side all these many years. And oh how the years have added up! I have tried again and again to savor it all, to make the great stages of life last. But no matter how closely I paid attention, no matter how hard I tried to hold onto time, it has melted away like cotton candy in a clenched fist.  I have only recently come to accept that there is not one thing I can do about it.  So, I'm loosening my grasp, and in sweet surrender,  I open up my hands - the very hands that played jax with my sister, and embroidered my "dungarees", the same hands that accepted the promise of forever in a wedding band, the same hands that tenderly tickled my babies, the hands that have now gone spotty, taking on an odd, reptilian quality.
 

But it is with these hands, these blessed reptilian hands, that I intend to blog my fifty-something heart out. We women of  "a certain age" are so much more complex than any  outward appearance reveals. I want to shine some light on this in a personal way, illuminating the everyday, reflecting on the bittersweet wonder of it all.
 

For someone who has never been talkative by nature, I am beginning to realize that there is much to say. So, for all the wrinkled girls and the wrinkled girls yet to be, that happen upon this space,  I'm sharing some insight, and eagerly awaiting yours - because we are never too old to learn or be inspired by one another.  And for any man who loves a wrinkled girl, or someday might, I hope that by offering a glimpse of my heart,  you will be inclined to hold hers, all the more gently.  





 


* Carly Simon -The Right Thing To Do  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jypWPiDyqP8&feature=related