I’m thinking of wishes today and desire and magical things. Here is the latest round-up of my fresh cravings.
- I want a hand-mapping from Isabel. A constellation of my true lines and thru-lines and lines that have yet to unfold.
- I want this print from Alex Franzen to hang in my Airstream trailer.
- I want to brunch here with soul sisters in March. I want to make it to Malibu and drive down the coast to Big Sur and soak in hot springs. Just because we only live once.
- I am so ready for this course with Pixie to begin. And speaking of wishes and wanderlust, her retreats in Oregon look rather divine, as well!
- I have been eyeing this cozy sweater. Scouting it out. I think it would be fly with my new black suede leggings.
- I want to make this list with my love on New Year’s Eve. Then drink some Prosecco along with a few oysters. And call it a year!
What about you? What are you craving and wishing and scouting and loving?
Solstice and lunar eclipse, she came with so much energy she was unstoppable.
Walking alone, just me and her, for most of the day, through the side streets. Stopping for breath and hugging a tree. Panting under the twinkle lights of the tree, on all fours. Shedding my clothes. Calling him to finally come home. The snow started. And I heard the doula say to him, call the midwife, we’ll have a baby soon, as she moved me to the pallet on the floor.
Dark and light were one and the same. I laid on my side remembering to pant trying so hard to hold her in until the midwife came. When I was scared and lost she said, your body knows what to do. Trust yourself. I breathed some more. And for a few moments everything stopped. Laying on my side, I looked up to the top of the window. Facing west. Out at the fading sunlight. Breathing and panting. Hearing her words. Knowing there was no turning back. Knowing I had everything within me to do this. Knowing I had to. Knowing I would move through this fire, that this fire was moving through me. Knowing, with absolute certainty, that there was no other way. And with one more growl, she was here. On my belly all slick and warm.
They said she cried something fierce but all I remember is the stillness, the end, the landing. All I remember is her warmth and her certainty and that I was just a conduit. A bundle of light. She was so ready to come.
What I remember most about her kitchen isn’t the smell of the cigarettes smoldering in the orange plastic tray on the counter. It isn’t the roast simmering in the oven or how I would slink to the cabinet for butter crackers when she wasn’t looking. What I remember most isn’t how my aunt would stand with the hair dye in hand, setting her hair in pink spongy rollers. I don’t remember what the card game was that we played or all the words to “Go Tell Aunt Rhody” that she sang to the littlest ones as they rested on her lap. What I remember most isn’t the bitter taste of the coffee she would pour into the china cup he brought her back from the war and how she’d fill it mostly with cream for me to drink.
What I remember in my bones is the tangle of these women, not always easy and not always soft. But always with love. A tangle of words filled with small town gossip and the latest from Aunt Bev’s letter and the question of what to sell at the church bazaar. Her table. An everyday altar of love, crowded with these women. Best friends and daughters. Sisters. Coffee and cigarettes. A tangle of the living.