Monday, February 13, 2017

Dinner Time

When I was a babysitter ,or nanny, without fail, my very favorite time of day was the, dinner, shower, homework, folding laundry on the kitchen island, time of day. I finished the round trip taxi service trips that led -  to and fro -  from dance to science club to theater practice, and then back, again. And, then, we all would gather in the kitchen, and fold the laundry, the laundry I tried to wash and fold between classes, while I cooked some form of dinner and all of these efforts, both the kids and mine, ended in the kitchen, where, we just chatted and laughed. We folded and cleaned and checked homework and packed lunches, but mostly we chatted and laughed. 

I chase this time of day. This dinner time with the gaggles of kids just dying to tell me her or his story. This time of day when all is right with the world. When the soup is simmering and the local news is on and the kids are asking questions about math and literature. I light up about the literature. And I tell them all about, Much Ado About Nothing. And, we continue to fold laundry, on the island, and pass the vegetables and assure each other, the brocoli is really that good. I feel like all is right with the world. This time of day is magic. This time of day is near the end, but not quite there. That last few bits of the day that are the very best. The last few bits that mean the very most.

Look. I mess up a lot. I mean, a lot. I cry a lot, too. I mean, a lot. Especially, in the last few weeks. And to try to combat these, so called weaknessess, I decided to create my own boot camp. A camp where I must show up at five o’clock in the morning or all was lost. And when my phone alarm rings, I sit up and get up and face this day. Even if I don’t want to. 

But, I get up, and I do it. Even when I don’t want to. Even, when it is much later than I hoped. I know I must start somewhere. So I start here. Whenever I get up, and I assure myself, this time is okay.

When I was twenty one, I had the rug pulled out of under me and I haven’t been able to find it again. I chased this rug. The rug is gone.

I learned I must weave a new rug. And, I don’t want to. I don’t want to weave the rug. I don't want to be a rug weaver. I don’t want to have to help weave the damn rug.

This new rug is jagged and messy and without a circular, perfectly round, ending. I, just can not put it on the floor for display.

So, I continue to weave. Even when I don’t want to. 

I tried, for the last several weeks, just to create a dinner time in my small, little home with just my dog. I folded laundry, while the oven pre-heated, and I turned on Ellen to hear the familiar chatter. I created, dinner time. Or, my very best version of dinner time.

I don’t know much about anything. But, I do know, we live for moments. We live for the feelings we once had or think we should have. The feelings. The feelings that make us feel alive.

Like dinner time with all the girls and boys and their chatter. A time I call, Dinner Time. I will never stop chasing this moment, this time. Dinner Time. 

This time, when everything is okay, was okay.

When, for a few minutes, all is right in the world.

I want to create this time over and over and over, again. The chance to begin and create and love and begin and create and love again, and again, again, and again. And again.

No boundries. No limitations. Just dinner time followed by bed time, with the anticipation of getting up and doing it all again. And, meet up, at the kitchen island, and fold some laundry and chat about the day, with the anticipation of doing it all over again, tomorrow. 

Dinner time, with the kids, or the dog, or Ellen, or just me, easily, my very favorite time of day. Easily.

This is love. The smallest moments. Getting to experience all of it...especially Dinner Time.

Monday, February 6, 2017

Big Foot

I sit here in front of this fire and try to write to you and, with words, paint the masterpiece that was my week, last week. It wasn’t perfect, but it was good. So good. And, I don’t say, so good, very much. I feel like it might jinx everything and anything. So, I don’t write about the good, much. 

Tonight, though, I decided to get honest about the good, too. And tell you why I loved this past week and all its twinkly lights.

But, I couldn’t stop laughing. Like, belly laugh, goofy, snort laughing.

I was thinking about the last five minutes of the night, last night. I was in my car, chatting and shivering because the window was down. Ashlea, was also shivering, and holding Will, and we talked quickly because of the cold. But, as you know, we had to talk. I told her, for whatever reason, I picked up toys and noticed a big, toy gorilla. And, I, simply, said it, the gorilla thing, in a list of things, a list of the evening’s happenings. Ashlea doubled over in laughter. She is so tickled that she has to give me multiple choice super hero costume quizzeswhile I wrap gifts and is, equally, tickled that I, familiarize, Hamilton, the musical, to her by way of the Disney movie, Moana. This time, though, she was hysterically laughing because I, apparently, called Big Foot, a gorilla. And, for the life of me, I really thought it was a gorilla. And she finds this hysterical and I watched her double over, in laughter, while holding her toddler. I can’t stop laughing and smiling.

Ashlea and I have very different lives. What is hard in our lives is so very different. But, we make an effort to understand each other and celebrate each other, when we can, when we have time.

I can’t stop laughing and smiling. Not because I made a mistake and my friend corrected me, but because she, in two seconds, knew the gorilla I talked about was actually Big Foot. And, because, I will never learn all of these super heroes or characters. Super Heroes is its own AP class.

Tonight, I write to you to tell you things actually do work out sometimes. We all go through so many hard things that none of us understands. But, we could understand, if we tried, and make our friends’ lives easier, if we just learned that a gorilla can also be Big Foot. 

We all have different lives, but we can understand each other, we really can. And, then laugh, in the driveway, about our misunderstanding/understanding, and go home feeling loved.

Tonight, I wanted to write something different, but I can’t stop laughing and smiling. Oh, and I switched my nighttime ritual chamomile tea with the Aveda tea Ashlea bought me because she tried it and loved it so much and knew I would to and would understand how much she loved it.

And, I do. I love it, too. I understand. It is so good.