Can't sleep, too much going on, all good. There are so many wonderful possibilities and doors opening for me, it is a bit overwhelming and so I find myself making cafe con leche and baking up croissants at 3:30 AM. I was watching one of the Oprah shows on my DVR, her interview of Mariannne Williamson. Quite interesting. One of the things Marianne said was we choose whether to be happy or not, we are our own stumbling blocks, or something along those lines. To ask yourself what do you want. So I said "Self, what do you want?" and Self answered "I want my world back." "Well, Self, that is just not feasible right now. Short of time travel, you are pretty much SOL on that concept, so what are you going to do about it?" Self can be rather bitchy at times answered "Bite me!" and blew a raspberry at me. Is it raspberry or razzberry? Well, you get the picture. Speaking of pictures, when all this inner dialogue was going on, I looked at the big memory/vision board I have next to the armoire (my, I do love my armoire, it is just so me, off-white with the palest rose wash, decoupaged with Redoute roses AND Whimble doorknobs ... me) and saw your wedding portrait. Both of you looking so radiantly happy, seeing what you thought would be a brilliant future, and I thought "That's what I want, I want you, here with me." Only that's not going to happen, is it? Not now, but definitely someday. When I wake up, find myself on the other side, start walking, turn a corner and there you'll be. But I digress, let me see if I can find my way out of this convoluted, wordy maze I have concocted.
What I want is you, my family, back together. Here with me. However, this is not possible, again, for now. So, I have a choice, do I go forward and continue building a new life without you in it. Or do I stay stuck yearning for what once was. Afraid of truly moving forward, because it means accepting your absence and, in a way, leaving you behind. This has formed a bumpy circle in my brain. On the one hand, I am raring to go, create, fly, BE. On the other hand, I feel a bit guilty that I am raring to go, because you are not here to share it with me. And I don't want to share it with anyone else. I want to share it with you and I feel if I really take off and fly, I will be leaving you behind. Like I said, bumpy little circle. I have had this conversation with myself many a time. Sometimes more often than others. This summer I had it a LOT. Then serendipity stepped in. You know what they say about serendipity, right? It's God's way of remaining anonymous. I pulled out the album for that lovely trip Mami and I went on, many, many years ago. When the world was new, bright, full of possibility and wonderful adventures. When I thought I would conquer the world. And there on the very last page was the card Mami had bought on our weekend trip to that magical, tiny slice of Heaven called Solvang, in the hills of Santa Barbara. When I translated what it said "Wherever I am, you are there also" she said, "That's us. That is us three." I looked at that card, it is the very last thing in the album and I thought of that wonderful time, preserved in my memory like one perfect, clear drop of pure joy, and I realized it is time to fly, I am not leaving you behind. You are always with me. You are the air I breathe, the ideas I have, the joy and peace I feel when I am home in my cocoon. You are my heart and my soul. I could never leave you behind, it is impossible. Because you are an integral part of me. Because wherever I am, you are there also.
Someone at work remarked that their 11-year old daughter was starting to find herself. She lives part of the time with her dad and part of the time with her mom. I thought I never went through that phase of "finding myself." I have always known who I am. I am my father's daughter. I am my mother's daughter. Granddaughter of a toymaker/spinner of magnificent fairy tales and a housewife who was born to be a grandmother and made the best chicken soup. Ever. I never had an issue with being identified as my father's or mother's daughter. Once at a family get-together someone came up to me and said "You are so much your father's daughter, he could never deny you." I smiled and answered "Nor I him." Once after my father had transitioned and I was living with my aunt she asked me "Who are you now, your mother is gone, your father is gone." I told her, well, just because they are no longer here, doesn't mean I stop being me. They were not perfect, but they were there for each other and for me always. Even in the middle of hell, we took comfort in each others' presence. We walked through fire together and I am still their daughter. I am me.
Reading Frances Schultz' recent blog posting on Yayoi Kusama, I became entranced by her Firefllies on the Water. It took me right back to summer nights long ago and far away, the very last summer I spent with my godmother. We would sit outside and listen to the nighttime concert of crickets, catch fireflies and my grandfather and godmother would spin fairy tales for me. I have been obsessed with fireflies ever since, they always bring back a sense of wonder and magic for me. Now that I have my own little nest and have been busy planting my (very miniscule) garden, I want plants that will attract fireflies, butterflies and birds. Have this idea of sitting in my little terrace, once the weather cools off a bit more, having my morning coffee, butterflies flitting about, birdsong filling the air. I have been thinking of my godmother a lot lately, remembering and writing down my memories of her. Often I have thought of traveling to where she died, going into the police records, investigating her death. Someone asked me why, it was over 40 years ago, let it go. I wonder if it was one of their loved ones, would they so easily dismiss it. Her death was a catastrophic event which changed my family, tore it apart, my world turned upside down. True, delving into the past will not bring her back, but maybe it would answer some questions and it would, in a way, enable me to spend a bit of time with her. Touch history, if you will.
I came home last night to find the two little homeless cats I feed waiting for me on my porch. The boy had been gone for a while. He is painfully skinny and as I got closer I saw he has this horrible, gaping wound on his back, his fur has been ripped off. You can see the muscles exposed. I tried getting close to him, but he ran off. So I put some food out for them. This morning when I woke up and went out to water my hanging basket, there he was, meowing. He ate two pouches of the wet food Miss Smokey snarfs at night. Two. Poor little thing was ravenous. I managed to sit on the porch close to him, while he was wolfing the food down, and squeezed some antibiotic cream into the wound. The sun was out, it was a beautiful, warm, early morning. I watched as the warmth of the sun helped to spread the ointment, watched it sink into his exposed muscles. He let me pat him on the head, BIG improvement! Then he ran off a bit and just sat there looking at me, making it clear that is about as close a contact as he is going to allow. And I thought, probably his wound was caused by a cat fight. He is not neutered, Lord how I wish I could get him to a vet. So I am guessing he got into a fight with another male cat. But if his wound was caused by a human, on purpose, then my fervent prayer is that whoever caused it, suffer the same kind of hurt, of wound, only much, much deeper, to his or her very core. I have no sympathy for those who inflict hurt on innocents. I don't care how horrific your childhood, what abuse you suffered. You know it's wrong and you make a choice to go ahead, you should suffer the consequences. I am tired of people being asses and blaming it on something. Sorry, that doesn't fly with me.
Ah, I am rambling. It has been that kind of day, a little of this, a little of that. A bit, actually a lot of gardening. Some writing. A truly splendiferous and very, very late breakfast. Now it is clouding up a bit, the sky looks gray, as if a thunderstorm is trying to make up its mind whether to douse us or not. Fall is slowly making its presence felt. Slowly. I set out my Halloween tableau, Halloween cats from Most Marvelous Magical Fabulous Fleaing Fairy GodMother, my purple witch, placed new fragrant votives in my little mercury glass Halloween votive holders, three etched with Jack O'Lanterns and one with a witch's hat etched in the middle. I switched out the Spring/Summer wreath with its pink and fuchsia roses for my Fall one, its colors matching the new planter where my lavender resides. I am hoping it will be happy there. This is my third one. I bought two earlier when they first became available at my neighborhood Publix, they didn't make it through September. But I am stubborn and do love the scent, so clean and fresh, so I am going for a third. So far, so good!
I have been burning my Fresh Cut Roses candle since I got up and brewed my morning coffee. Strangely enough, even though I slept only a few hours, I am not sleepy. Can't believe I was up at 4:30 baking croissants, their scent still lingers mixing with coffee and the rose candle, it smells of home. Next week out comes the big silver bowl to fill with Halloween candy (mini Snickers and Reese's Peanut Butter Cups) and I go hunting for pumpkins to carve the weekend before
Halloween. Next month I bring out the Noel scented oil to go in the light bulb diffusers. Already put pumpkin puree (from Libby's Libby's Libby's), brown sugar, baking soda and spices on my shopping list. It is cocooning time. Well, for me it is ALWAYS cocooning time, but this time of year even more so.
Yesterday, Friday, I had lunch with my boss. My friemily will be very proud of me when I tell them that even though I had never been to that particular restaurant, Seasons 52, I did not, repeat, did NOT steal the menu. Mainly because I was with my boss and she goes there a lot. Don't want the serving staff going "Ah, there is that attorney with the loony assistant who stole a menu!" the next time she goes there. My boss is a very complex person. We met at a firm I worked at a few years ago, which got royally skewered by a bunch of nimrods and subsequently went under because of what I still believe was a vendetta, but I digress. I like her. Always have, always will. The first day she walked into my department, I was the new girl on the block, they gave me her project. Because the others did not want to work on it. That always amazes me, but it turned out nicely for me. We hit it off. She was (and is) known for being persnickety and a perfectionist, I have no problem with that. After all, it is her name on the documents. I left the firm shortly after it changed hands and went to work for another firm, where I was quite happy and fully expected to retire from. But ... that one ran into major problems and I was faced with finding a new job. Enter my boss, who called one afternoon saying she had heard I was looking for a job and would I like to go interview for the position of her assistant. I did and the rest is history. Without a doubt, this is the most stressful job I have ever had. Mainly because every time I think I am getting a handle on it, something new pops up, or a rule changes, or a judge decides to change whatever. I am always worried I will miss something, muck something up, but I muddle through. The environment around me is very noisy and I have to make a conscious effort to concentrate on the job at hand and not let it distract me. Sometimes I want to tell everybody to shut the f' up, but I bite my tongue. She has been incredibly patient. I am good at the secretarial part of it, the legal part of it still gives me hives. But we go along. I have found her to be quite kind, generous, funny and fair. She is a brilliant attorney and tolerates no guff. From anyone. I like that in people. I hope we are a team for a long time. At times I feel secure and confident. Others the snargles return full force, biting into my happy like a hungry jackal. I have learned to slow down and breathe when that happens. Drink a lot of water and ride it out. A few weeks ago they were back in full force. I beat those f'ers back with a stick. I am my father's and mother's daughter, I refuse to be intimidated, I will see the good, I will see the good, I will bless my circumstances, through gritted teeth if necessary. That is from Simple Abundance. I will remember "Wherever I am, you are there also."
Signing off for now ... Until next time, be safe, be happy, be blessed.
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