It’s funny, I don’t really know what to say tonight.
I’m just sitting in some kind of stillness, feeling like a guitar string in the space between the pluck and the sound.
I need to tell you that finding comments waiting on this blog is the most wonderful surprise. Getting messages, e-mails, talking in person,
connecting with all of you and hearing your stories is the greatest gift,
the first pink of the sunrise after the longest night,
warm sunlight on cold skin.
My tides are changing,
some kind of exchange,
of old ways,
A shifting of patterns, a loosening, a grinding of gears.
I am finding some old memories and
there is comfort there,
the scratchy warmth of my father’s wool sweaters,
the smooth palm of my mother’s small hand, checking for fever,
the hollow honeysuckle in our backyard where my sister and I played,
but sadness too,
the endless tension of making ends meet,
a mother missing home,
a father who lost his father too soon.
Wil said to me yesterday, “We are nothing but our memories. Our memories are what make us US. Each time you think of a memory, that memory changes, just a bit. If you stop thinking of a memory altogether, eventually you will lose it. And you will lose a part of yourself too.”
So, if I am my memories,
(me in a pink coat with small mittens, standing at the stop of a snowy hill),
then I want to honor them,
(cuddled in my mama’s arms, the sweet taste of milk on my tongue),
one, by one,
(a late night car ride with Daddy, exciting and sad, all at the same time, us leaving the house to go to grandma’s after he and mama had a fight).
pull them up, and lift them out,
(a stop for gas and orange juice, frost on the windows, boots on my feet),
examine them and hold them close to my heart.
(and back home again, “see mama, don’t be sad, we came back!” A look between them, soft and sweet).
I want to allow myself to live it all again, the small joys and sadnesses that make up my life,
because the first time around, I was too busy trying not to feel,
too busy moving forward, too busy being “fine,”
and that, like Wil said, made me lose myself.
But now, you see,
I am ready to be
I love you,
Please forgive me.
Please do not hesitate to tell me your stories. I need to be wrapped in them, cocooned so tight I can barely breathe,
I need to be bathed in them, feel them flutter like soft wings past my cheek,
I need to be cradled in them, a strong web to hold my weight,
I need to be lost in them,
that I might find my way.
There is healing in connection, a power in sharing, in speaking the truth.
Please do not be afraid.
Thank you for listening,
And Marney, dear kindred spirit, sent me this message last week when I introduced the 40 Days of Giving idea. I read it in the morning with tears rolling down my cheeks. Because yes, yes, yes, here it is! The way we can change the world. One pair of socks at a time. Welcome to the giving revolution. Thank you Marney!!!
yes yes yes yes yes
(peeking out from hands covering my face i say to you: last month i spoke with a person at a check out line – the cashier.
i see her often, we have a rapport, and it was very cold on this day.
said her feet were cold
i asked if she was wearing wool socks
she said no
didn’t have them
couldn’t afford them
i asked her what size shoe she wore and good bye and good day etc.
so with my coupon from the closeout website my housemate told me about where i got warm wool socks for myself i went online and bought two pair
gave them to her in a brown paper sack along with a coupon & a note about how my housemate told me of this website yaddayadda
i felt worried, like i had done something wrong
worried that the look on her face was some sort of upset…
honestly i avoided the store for as long as i could (hard because i shop there for work…)
she saw me one day
came over and gave me a hug
thanked me and showed me the socks
said they were so warm and soft
she was happy
was the best thing ever