Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Under the Radar
Memorial day weekend passed in a blur.
The girls were sick and missed their last days of school. Mr. V, birthday boy, was sick as well. On Saturday night I went to bed at nine pm and slept for thirteen hours.
I woke up and I knew a few things for sure.
One was that, god willing and the kids don't get pink eye, I spend most of my days doing what I love. And oh, how I love this thing I love. And that is a true happiness.
Indy bursts through the door and dumps out handfuls of flowers and rocks. That she has collected for me. Because she loves me.
I knew that in ten days--or eleven days--look, I don't really know how to count days--I am going to turn thirty. It's true. And I knew that I want to spend these next ten or eleven days celebrating. I am going to fete myself with little treasures.
Today we had Mexican food with guacamole, and ice cream. Holy cow! Sakes alive.
Tomorrow maybe I'll spend some of my early-arriving birthday money on a book and a song.
Bit by bit, moment by moment, is how these things are done.
What I know for sure is that my future holds Frappucinos and some really good pizza.
What I know is that I will never buy margarita mix labeled "Skinny Girl". Life is short. Life is hard.
Life is sweet.
I woke up from my ten year nap, and I knew that it was time to lay low for a little while.
Things need to kick around.
Grains of sand must be turned over and coaxed into pearls.
Soft places must be nurtured for new things to grow.
I'm going under ground. Under the radar. Incognito, if I will. (I will).
I don't know how often I'm going to come around these parts, for a time.
I just wanted you to know, in case you come looking.
When I was in college, there was a serial rapist in our college town.
I was driving in the car with a friend, who was on the phone, trying to explain to someone how uptight we all were because of it.
In her bouncy, lovely way, she raised her eyebrows and exclaimed, "We are all on hi--"--she searched for the word-- "--atus."
I wish you summer treasures. Good books, good beer, crickets in the evenings and languid afternoons.
I wish you peppers on your pizza and cinnamon in your coffee.
I wish you Mary Oliver poems.
I wish you tv shows on dvd to devour, five or six at a time.
I wish you all things coconut and good, vanilla bean and spicy. Whatever is honey-dripped, garlic roasted, and wonderful to you, I wish you those things.
Wherever it is you wish to go, I wish you a piece of it wherever you are.
I wish you many star-filled nights at the cabana of Le Happy.
We are on hiatus, here.
I am Vesuvius and here comes the Mary Oliver poem:
Don't worry, sooner or later I'll be home.
Red-cheeked from the roused wind.
I'll stand in the doorway
Stamping my boots and slapping my hands,
covered with stars.
(from 'Walking Home from Oak-Head. By Mary Oliver.)
My favorite poem by Mary Oliver
is called "The Journey"
and you can find it online.