Oh, weekend of plenty! What I desperately needed before the normal routine at work resumed came just in time this weekend. Perhaps, it goes even deeper. Perhaps, it’s what I needed in life right at this moment. My words won’t adequately capture it all, but I’ll make a go of it for my own records anyway.
Saturday morning, and I’m waking up to my frolicsome silver cat snuggles and my bearded love wondering if I might make him breakfast. I adore weekend mornings: thick slices of quiet near the ones I care about the most. Here we are with messy hair, side by side at the table. Here we are with the kitties fighting or dozing nearby, depending on their moods. Sometimes I am screaming at the top of my lungs that they are “driving me crazy” as they hiss, fight, and run laps around the house. Other days, I am doting on them. I whisper as Francis dozes by my breakfast plate, “You are the most handsome cat to ever live. You are the most darling of them all.” He ignores me no matter whether I offer criticism or praise, and I love him for it. I make K.’s eggs first, and then for me, a baked egg in toast and a mug of coffee.
I finished the most amazing book. I’m not even sure how to sum it up. It’s called The Dead Ladies Project: Exiles, Expats, and Ex-Countries. I found it at the local library, and I picked it up on a whim. I had my stack and was heading to check out when I saw it. The front looked interesting, and I took a second look at the jacket and threw it on the pile. For me, it’s a brutally honest mix of Feminism, examination of failure–the raw regrets burning up every second and the phoenix of continuing on in spite of. It’s how creation can come from the bottom of the barrel. It’s the depths of loneliness. It’s books, authors, characters that save your life. It’s trying to make sense of how to live a life. It’s who you are, and how you are spinning through many different cities spread throughout the world. I put it down, and I wanted to read it again. Needless to say, I’m purchasing my own copy. I can’t recommend it enough, especially if you find you’re experiencing a mid life crisis in your thirties…if you are experiencing a “mid life” crisis at any age.
Saturday evening, and I run into a dear friend. We catch up on her recent wedding plans. She is encouraging, so encouraging. She presents the possibility of one of the most generous gifts I’ve ever been offered. She shows me the way to a rope out. “I can’t decide this for you,” she says, “but it’s your’s if you want it.” I don’t know how to thank someone for, not only such generosity, but for faith in me. I am stewing deeply. The gratitude hits me in waves.
Later that evening, I am clay on a table. My masseuse manipulates and rolls, and I am in some state between being asleep and awake for two hours. The closest I have ever come to an out of body experience may be in the dark of this purple room with otherworldly music being piped in. I wonder if this is what it feels like after death. If Heaven is this wonderful state of awareness without having to participate so fully? I feel physically like a deep breathe, and I think, there’s some powerful shit going on back here. Human touch should be considered a form of magic.
Sunday after church, K. and I head to the thrift. It’s my lucky day, and I find a plethora of treasures! From gold-lamé sweaters with a sequin butterfly best suited to wear in outer space while listening to Sixousie and the Banshees, to what everyone knows is the most perfect mug ever–“The Waffle House Mug”! The weight is the best. It’s got a thick lip. Oh, to have a whole set of Waffle House mugs. For now, I’m just glad I stumbled across this one for a quarter at the thrift store. Kelly proudly presented me with a beaded purse that reminded me of something a Grandma would carry. I think I remember a friend’s mother in the 80’s carrying one with cigarettes in it, but for me, it will serve as a wallet. I am pleased he knows me so well.
We end the day at the library, again. I am looking over this month’s collection that they have on display of some lucky soul’s My Little Pony collection. I practically press my nose to the glass, and I point out the ones I owned to Kelly. It’s almost every one in the case. Two little girls standing near us walk off and Kelly says, “You realize you ran them off?” I shrug my shoulders, shush him, and say, “They’ll have to get a helluva lot tougher than that.”