A Sincere offering of friendship.
I spoke of black licorice, and it is relevant for sure today. Every day, even every hour, is packed with a thousand experiences, a thousand thoughts, a thousand journeys, a thousand feelings. Some we choose to share, some we keep close to our hearts and share with no one.
This has been my day. I had meant to keep almost all of it to myself, to speak figuratively, using black licorice as an oblique symbol. Since I am liking black licorice lately.
One feeling, one experience, is begging for a little more press.
I have a friend. I love my friend, maybe because she loved me first. She is so sick that her life hangs in the balance. [continue reading…]
I have never liked “The Wizard of Oz”, nor the Ruby Slippers. My reasons are a bit fuzzy, but they are enough. First, the movie is way too long. Too much in the way of parade and spectacle and costume showcasing. Second, there’s Munchkin Land music. Yikes. The Munchkin’s songs are catchy in a sort of demented, irritating way peculiar to advertising ditties: they get stuck in your head and mock you when you least want to hear them. Third, while the wicked witches are delightfully evil and scary, the protagonists cry way too often, and way too much (Dorothy’s eyes are constantly be-dewed, the tin man rusts his joints with weeping, and the lion whines and wails til you just want to whack him). And last, I must protest the ruby slippers (maybe because I’m jealous, wishing they were real, and mine). As pretty as the ruby slippers are, they’re too pat an answer. Too easy and quick a solution to a problem that has plagued the tearful Dorothy for at least two (or is it three?) hours, through encounters with a fraudulent salesman, a tornado, a kidnapping, flying monkeys, a positively pink Glenda, and opiate-induced slumber. 
Today, it hailed. Yesterday, it snowed. Incessantly. Burdening fresh daffodils all over town with a cold wet blanket. What a winter epilogue! I was hoping that this week would be a good one to finish sculpting our lot—to finish moving the mountain of dirt in the backyard into the sort of perfect flatness that my husband so admires, so that we can figure out irrigation, and I can begin planting. But the lot is a swamp once more (which makes irrigation seem irrelevant), and it will be another week before it will bear heavy machinery. As the hail splashes on the ground in tight little pellets, I realize it is apt. Pertinent, germane, apposite. It falls uninvited, despite my best wishes and intentions. Here it is, and so am I. I didn‘t plan for it, or orchestrate it. And I certainly can’t prevent it. It just is. Here and doing its hail-ish thing, while I do mine.
Writing, particularly writing a blog that is open to the entire internet, I feel vulnerable. Exposed. I type a word, a sentence, a paragraph, and edit it (deleting everywhere), thinking Goodness Gracious! Let’s not share That. But then I remember beautiful sketches written by people who’ve been willing to stand vulnerable and exposed, and how that moved and changed me. Besides, I tell myself as I start typing again, the world is, as yet, unaware of this quiet slice of life. I have to beg my own family to just glance at excerpts on my web page (even Frank isn’t caught up on my blogs). I don’t need to worry about exposure, not really. So I’ll stand on my little rock and sing on my little stage. Hoping that it’s not just sound (let’s skip the fury). Hoping that it does signify something. 
Nora, my youngest (she’s five), was just on my lap. I need to snuggle, she said. Her little body is soft and warm; I don’t mind snuggling at all, though this morning I am feeling antsy, wanting to write. So we snuggled, and talked about Nora things for a while. Eventually I convinced her to go find a toothbrush and toothpaste, and she whined as she went. But I want more snuggling! More and more and more snuggling, trailing out the door. I know what she means.
Today, on my brief morning run, the May wind was biting and frigid. I tried to keep my ears covered with the hood of my sweater, but the wind was more clever (or at least more persistent) than I. It looks promising and warm outside now; the sky is relatively cloudless, probably thanks to today’s wind.