Song:
Open- Rhye
So my birthday came and went. I didn't drop dead. Yawn. I was all amped up fa nuthin'. Fa nuffin'! A couple of friends left me some encouraging voicemails saying they knew I was bummed about turning forty but that forty was sexy (1) and the coolest women they knew were forty and over (2). Um...it kind of reminded me of the way I felt when I opened my seven year old nephews birthday card that said, "Your not LAME!!, Your not stupid!!" I was like, well, thanks James, I hadn't really considered either of those but thank you for letting me know I'm not. Lame. Or... Stupid. I think. Eyes shut. White mans overbite. That was my favorite card, obviously. And James, it's "You're", not "Your." I must correct you, just to prove I may not be totally
stupid but that I am actually pretty lame.
As for the messages I just want to get clear as I gather they were a result of
my last post. I was not lamenting on the age of forty but the space of forty years and how fast they went. Remember when forty years felt like a long time? That's no longer my reality. The reality is it's a short amount of time and that I will arrive at the next just as quickly, assuming any number of fatal fates don't meet me before then. It was about the quiet alacrity of time. About the wrinkles in time, not the wrinkles about my forehead. Of course forty's sexy!! I have a mirror. I knows I's looks gewd y'all. Come get it. Just kidding (JK). I see all of my fierce females and the more subtle seductresses. The looks of it was never my conflict. Of course older is cooler and wiser and deeper, but only if we ask and examine and challenge- then listen, accept and relax. "Don't worry I think 40 is hot and most women over 40 are like the coolest women I know." Seriously? Do you know me? Those two are in the bag ladies. You sound like you are too. JK. Again I jest. I do not mean to begrudge my well intended well wishing sisters. I do appreciate the reaching out. Weirdos. Lose my number. JK. You're not lame!! You're not stupid!! JK. No seriously, I was bummed that I missed the deadline to the book I'm trying to write, but I get that I have not past the deadline on living. I do hear life whistling past my ears some days- as I have a conversation with my oldest son and wonder how that happened, how can he talk? He was spitting up baby formula a minute ago, every waking moment needed my attention. He had no teeth and couldn't hold his head up just yesterday. Today he holds his head up high, or hangs it down. He has grown up teeth that help him articulate his own thoughts, thoughts that are different than mine, that sometimes bother me, that don't need my attending. Did my two year old baby Henry really crawl into bed with me on Saturday morning at 5:15 and whisper in a garbled voice that could have filled Carnegie Hall, "I love (lub) you, mom." The wave of warmth that flooded my heart in that moment, the wave of warmth I believe is love, is not something I want to end. It is all going so fast. That's all I meant. That's all... and that I was terrified of losing now and then having been so caught up in now that I didn't do anything to be prepared for then. Like writing a novel that that same ear that hears the whistling of time tells me might be the one people will actually want to pay money for.
Am I the only one who has felt this way? I know it keeps a person popular to make fun of everything and be cynical and surface and it's trendy to name drop Louise Hay and pretend that's how we are on the daily even though our pinched faces and thoughtless actions tell a story so much louder than any of our holistic forwards. Those people have dropped away from my life. Pretending has not been my sense of fun. My fun is in being honest about the big questions, my effort is putting in practice the preaching but being okay with not being at the pulpit. My brother sent me a book (and a bouquet of flowers and two cards and a gift card- so thoughtful, so generous) titled
Stitches by Anne Lamott. She writes all about this in her book. It came by UPS in a brown envelope addressed to me. Inside the book was inscribed to someone else, regarding the loss of something living named Kyle, signed by a name I never heard of in handwriting I didn't recognize. I was terribly confused. Convinced daily that I have early Alzheimers, "Danny, will you take the ashtrays out of the windows? It's freezing!" "Ashtrays?" "Air Conditioners. Sorry." I texted my brother and told him what I received. It turned out the book was for a friend of his, a man he calls Pinoch. Pinoch and I ended up on the phone. I explained my end of the confusion. He said Pinoch was for Pinoccio, it was signed Jimminy like Crickets, they used to call each other that. My first thoughts were that he either had a big nose or was fond of fibbing. Luckily, my ADD behaved and I didn't express that. Instead I said, "Oh." 'I'm so sorry for the loss of Kyle.' 'Oh, yep, he was our oldest.' 'Oldest?' (Oldest dog was what I was thinking)? "We had three and he was the oldest." "Oldest, son?" "Yep." "I'm sorry. I am so sorry." "Nah, it's okay, I'll be by to switch the books later today." I didn't feel that the burden of the drive should land on Pinoch's shoulders but he seemed to want the drive and I could understand that. Sometimes a guy just needs a place to land, hour to hour. Just let me know I'll have a commitment for the next two hours so that I can get through the next two hours. I'm not sure but that's what I imagined he needed. Pinoch arrived with my package -clear eyed and upright. I decided that since part of the inscription Jiminy wrote included that it was good to be back in touch, that Pinoch had lost Kyle some time ago. I again apologized for his loss and asked after his son. He said he died two weeks ago- to the day. I looked into his eyes, they were not dilated, they weren't teary, or chipper, they were clear, hopeful and very blue, the color of robins eggs. "How are you standing?" I asked. "I don't know, maybe tomorrow I won't be, but today I am." I saw a woman in the passenger seat of his car, she was smoking and looking straight ahead, most of her profile was hidden by dark brown hair that looked like it needed a brush. Her appearance attached a more predictable sense of reality to the words he was saying. It was his wife. Kyles mother. "Well this makes the fight I had with my husband look pretty small." I said. "Yes, it does," he said. And he laughed a true laugh from his belly that later made me cry in the wake of his humility. I gave him a hug and thanked him. As he was walking toward his car he said, "Oh! Happy Birthday!"
I was no longer thinking about my birthday. I thought about how I'm glad I learned early that you never know what someone is going through but that I am still amazed at what people are going through. Quickly after that thought, selfishly, I was no longer thinking about Pinoch's pain either. I stole from the future, I stole a worry from time I haven't earned - way out, fifteen years from now. What if Colbert was 23 and gone? I quickly backhanded my thought in the face. Not on my watch, crazy Sue. Pray for that man and his family and bless your own with appreciation.
So, the big day came and went and so did the sensation of it all coming to a close and the feeling of urgency I had to "accomplish." It's okay. It's still good to have those milestones, 40! It's time snapping you to attention, "It's been 40 years, didn't they go quick? They will again! Don't miss them!" I understand that there is no such thing as missing them. All we can ask is to try to do the best we can everyday. I try to be careful with my spending, not to spend my time unwisely, so often I find myself just pissing it away, as my dad would say. It's true. I have a wild propensity to day dream. I fault myself for that. After reading Stitches and meeting Pinoch and reflecting on so many of the many blessings and tragedies that have come to pass in my 40 years, (because no one gets to live 40 years without at least one blessing and one tragedy.) Really time just comes and goes and none of it matters. Can you name the most famous person in 1904? It wasn't that long ago. How about 1789? 1987? You can work your whole life becoming what you think you need to be and if it's not fulfilling, that becoming, is a life pissed away. No one will remember most, if any, of even the best of us in a hundred years time. So do whatever you want with the time you have. Serve, hold and let go. Ask the questions that need answers if you can find the strength to face them. Sometimes it's best to wait, because sometimes the pain of not knowing is hard but getting the answer is unbearable, for now. That same answer that may destroy you today may make you burst out laughing five years from now...because your perspective on the situation will change.
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| good thing he's cute! |
Perspective, time, rambling... As I got to the last ten lines of this I smelt a strong coffee brewing in the kitchen. I looked up only to realize it had become dark out, so I decided to light a fire before going to the kitchen to see what was brewing. I did not find brewed coffee but coffee grinds- bucket loads- tossed all over the counters, the sink, in the nooks and crannies of the stove, brown finely ground grinds blanketed the floorboards. The culprit? Our little Hank, (we have started calling Henry, Hank because he is like a tank- charging through and demolishing everything in his path). I put him in the den with Danny, his dad and his brothers. I went to work on the clean up. Ten minutes into it and only half way done I hear Danny yell from the doorway of the living room, "Henry! Fire!" I ran into the living room. The fire was barely contained in the fireplace, the grate wide open, flames threatened to escape and engulf us. The planks of faux marble garnishing the sides had caught fire and were on their way to the mantle. Hank had made his way out of the den to the fireplace and threw in two large synthetic pillows and three starter logs. He stood in front of the blaze stunned still by the festival of flames. Danny quickly removed him and closed the gate. Colbert yelled for us to call the fire department but we got it under control, it was all behind the gate. I couldn't believe that here I was writing about time and forty years and blessings and tragedies when in forty seconds it could have been all gone. Hank could have been burned. Our whole house could have burned down with us in it, a half an hour ago. If Danny hadn't noticed that the world around him with Hank the Tank felt eerily quiet, he would have continued to play with our older two and that minute would have changed everything. That's what it's like. We can't turn our backs for a minute. I want so badly to be in the now and able to prepare for the then...but with Hank the Tank, even with Danny home and me writing a post- and just flukes, there is no preparing for the then. There might not even be a possibility of it.
Is this stupid? Is this lame? Happy Holidays!! haha a.. Wish I had a nice wrap up but Hank is pulling the keyboard out from me asking me to take a baff wit him...
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Mowing the bath water. Is there a prob with that?
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Minutes before an appt he grabbed a couple jars of paint and threw them
on the floor then got on his tractor and road off |
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| He twists his hair and pulls it down the center, Dracula/Elvis |
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| He likes to make the sign for I LOVE YOU <3 |
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Hank brought his toy lawnmower into the tub
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stupid but that I am actually pretty lame.
