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Every few months I have a crash and burn spell. I hit a wall and all the most important parts of me spill out, while I scramble to hold my insides...to keep walking, limping, or even crawling to the next good thing. The call of the next good thing is the only force that pushes my one foot in front of the other some days. It's what keeps me from melting onto myself and disappearing for weeks at a time. Today, the next good thing is dinner with a friend and a poetry reading by Jean Valentine this evening. I rarely indulge in fits of gloom, but I'm so tired and inexplicably sad lately. Last week, someone at work made a very flip comment about how I'm always so happy and together. It was meant as a compliment, but it just pissed me off. Every bit of my contentment has had a price...just because I don't go all fucking Minnie Pearl and let the tags show doesn't mean I didn't pay for it.
the Prince," said the old woman.
"Yes, indeed, I should have been
the one," said the girl.
Illustration, East of the Sun & West of the Moon
Kay Nielsen
I had a package delivered today by a mail carrier I'd never seen...on a postal holiday no less. The doorbell rang and there she was. She hands me the package, says Merry Christmas, and drives away. So you wonder why I believe in magic? I believe in magic because I whispered a name into the new spring air under the light of a Storm Moon, the name of the person whose gift, whose perfect-beyond-words-wonderful gift, was delivered to me on Christmas day when the mail does not even run. It's days like this that I am more certain than ever that I really did find him up there in the stardust.
I am a series of pins and tumblers...sort of a puzzle box in the flesh. I know that about myself more so now that I have a bit of perspective on my past. There's this whole series of words and deeds that I've carried in my head for longer than I can remember...the answer to the riddle that no one ever solves. What may strike many as my capricious nature is, in reality, just the opposite. I have clung with ironclad resolve to this secret combination, waiting to hear the tumblers ease themselves into place. You know what I'm talking about, right? Those words that you wait to hear...not "I love you"...that's the easy one. It's about love, but it's also more than that. It's the other words...the ones that may be a random string of syllables that have such a significance to you and only you. The ones that startle you and make you look more closely, that give you a sense of recognizing a long lost friend. It's the gestures that are more instinct than thought...the brushing back of your hair from your eyes, the way he rests his hand at the small of your back when you're nervous in a crowd, the way he says your name.
I've had some of this, each piece of the puzzle solved a story in and of itself...but I've never had it all and never in the right sequence...very near unlocked a couple of times, but in the end, I remained a half-answered question. But when you get close...very close...close enough to make my breath catch when I wake up the next morning and remember that you slipped by some of those secret words so smoothly that I didn't even realize it until I'd dreamed you for a night...then you get homemade chocolate chip cookies. I can't tell you the details of when or how I will ever recognize Big Love, because the answer to the riddle is something that even I won't know until I hear it...but I know that the smell of vanilla and brown sugar is always a promising sign.
I've had some of this, each piece of the puzzle solved a story in and of itself...but I've never had it all and never in the right sequence...very near unlocked a couple of times, but in the end, I remained a half-answered question. But when you get close...very close...close enough to make my breath catch when I wake up the next morning and remember that you slipped by some of those secret words so smoothly that I didn't even realize it until I'd dreamed you for a night...then you get homemade chocolate chip cookies. I can't tell you the details of when or how I will ever recognize Big Love, because the answer to the riddle is something that even I won't know until I hear it...but I know that the smell of vanilla and brown sugar is always a promising sign.
When I was small, we'd drive through the desert. I'd watch the asphalt glitter in the heat, sure that the sparkle was stardust fallen on the road. Now that I'm an old broad, there's no better feeling than to glimpse a bit of that stardust from time to time. Keeps me faithful to the concept that words are powerful mojo.
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