catelin: (glasses)
( Jul. 30th, 2006 08:33 am)
This day is always odd. I never can figure out if it is the beginning or end of my week, as it shifts and shapes itself according to what has come before it and what is on the horizon. The deer have already come and gone this morning, adjusting their routine to the heat, moving into the shadows when they can find them.

She sleeps while I drink my coffee and dabble with another painting. I came home early last night to play with the dogs and have a bit of quiet time. It bothered her that I took my own car, but I hate being at the mercy of a ride and feeling stuck. Small detail, but it says much about the state of our existence. I am not your satellite, I say. Not yours, not anyone's.

It is hot and clear today, without even a single brave cloud. The sky makes me wonder about the inside of a robin's egg, whether it would be this blue from the other side if it were halved across its length and placed over a much smaller me. This silky quiet life of mine is a luxury of summer. Even as I enjoy it for what it is, I look forward to next week when the boys will be home and the house will be full of their movement and chatter.
catelin: (Default)
( Jul. 22nd, 2006 09:17 am)
She irritates me. She is like a child, with her petulant demands for attention and insistence at having the world roll under her feet according to her desires. She stands at the door for five minutes, fuming when I finally hear her and open it. I ask her why she did not use her key. She's had a key for months.

"I could not find it," she snaps. I look at the half-dozen keys on the ring and smile to myself, realizing that I have been opening the door far too often.

I paint and paint, sweat trickling down between my breasts, sticking my shirt to me like papier mache. The music is loud and I keep working in the heat. I am alone. The house is a mess. The boys are gone for a few weeks, giving me a chance to feel what it is like to be without them. It's a small taste of what my life might be like if they had never been here and I am unsettled by how much I miss them. It is a physical pain, to be a mother. My canvas and brush are blue, and I imagine the boys laughing together and diving into blue water, two little fish under the watchful eye of their grandparents.

We sit at the table and exchange stories. He is younger than me by almost a dozen years, something that distracts me even as I focus on his softly accented words. I've had a parade of suitors lately, all of them very earnest and interesting. I think to myself that I have become one of those eccentric middle-aged women who is charming in her own peculiar sort of way. Still, the opportunities for companionship have done little to lessen my preference for spending much of my time alone, tending to my gardens or working on any other number of solo projects I have brewing. A friend once told me that I reminded him of an old Joni Mitchell song.

She will love them when she sees them
They will lose her if they follow
And she only means to please them
And her heart is full and hollow
Like a cactus tree...

I watch him stir his coffee and he smiles at me. We dance in the shower at midnight as if it were the Trevi fountain.
catelin: (sittingbrighid)
( Mar. 31st, 2006 09:10 pm)
It pains me, as much as it is a great relief, to find that I am becoming more and more practical when it comes to affairs of the heart. That great cold winter taught me well. Taught me that I can get through breaking even my own heart to do the right thing when I realize that it needs to be done. The ending of things still has the inevitable sting, but I have such a greater sense of movement these days...of how this time--now--will pass and soon things will be different in ways I have yet to even contemplate. New love will come, just like spring. I am lucky that way, and still so very grateful for all of my life's seasons.


catelin: (Default)


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