Firm Support

February 3, 2012February 3, 2012 / roughwighting / 5 Comments

I open my dresser drawer to pull out a bra – my favorite one with the lace and no underwire, just right for a day of writing and relaxation. My hand hovers over the array of other ‘stuff’ in the drawer.

Between the three white bras and one black one, I shuffle through the small bag of potpourri, the sales tags from Nordstrom from three years ago, the tiny antique frame that needs to be mended, as it has for the four years it’s sat in that drawer, and to the right, the pile of greeting cards.

Knowing I shouldn’t, I pull the cards out. I hesitate, then put them back in their spot. I just do not have time to do this now. I look at the clock – 8:12 – and pull them out again. Okay, just a few.

The first one is a picture of bright yellow California poppies in a field. The last Mother’s day card from my son. I open it up and smile. In his scrunched up, manly handwriting I read, “to an amazing person and an even more amazing mother. May you always know I appreciate everything you have done for me, and I love you very much.” I feel tingly goose bumps roll up my spine. This time he didn’t sign it with his first and last name, as in other years. Looking through my pile, I see his Mother’s day card from two years ago, and another from years before that.

But next I pull out a birthday card from my daughter. Last year? Two years ago? It’s not dated, and I wish I had put a year on it. The cover of the orange, new agey-looking card proclaims, “I know a woman of strength and beauty. I have watched her for years.” Inside, in script is added, “She is my mother. Happy Birthday.” I feel my eyes water (as they do every time I read the card), and then look at the added words, written with orange and blue magic markers. In blue she writes: “Mom, when I saw this card I immediately thought of you, because it says exactly what I think of you. I am blessed to not only know you, but to have you for my mom!”

The words from both my children never fail to touch me deep deep down in my gut, and I allow myself a good cry for three minutes.

I have a pile of at least 20 cards I could go through, from husband, the kids, my mom, friends, that remind me how extremely fortunate I am.

If I’m down and having a particularly tough day, I don’t need to go to the medicine cabinet for a pill, a picker upper. I just go to my bra drawer.

That’s where I always find lots of firm support.

Weekend Zen

July 18, 2011 / roughwighting / 13 Comments

Weekend S.F. Bay sunset

As the sky darkens on a Saturday night, walk me into the house, put a little music on the CD player– Rosemary Clooney, Enya, Vivaldi, the Beatles Rubber Soul– and let the fresh S.F. summer fog meander through the open window. Yes, I’m beginning to get there.

Make the telephone stop ringing, at least turn the volume of the voice mail way down, turn the oven on 350 degrees preheat, open up my closet door so I can change to my well-worn black leggings and soft cotton lavender top. Help me find my rumpled gray socks, and lead me toward the kitchen. Yes, I’m getting there.

Give me an excuse to make my homemade brownies – my son and his family are coming tomorrow for dinner, a friend’s birthday in a day, a neighbor’s dog is sick — and I’ll start to crack the eggs and melt the semisweet chocolate squares, stir in the sugar, drop in a teaspoon of vanilla. As the sweet smells of baking brownies waft through the house, I feel myself getting there.

Husband bangs into the house, racing against the fading light, washes his white-speckled hands under running water, and smiles. He’s had his Zen day out in the yard, pruning, painting, puttering. He kisses me like he means it, then asks in almost the same breath ‘what’s for dinner?’ I point to the eggplant he’s just brought in from our garden, and pick up four round, red, luscious just-plucked tomatoes. ‘Eggplant parmesan?’ I suggest. He hops once with excitement and runs upstairs for a shower. I’m so close I can feel the aura of contentment surround me like a warm coat on a freezing day.

I peel the purple fruit as I listen to Rosemary sing soulfully about love. I dance around the kitchen with a tomato, stopping short as I see the look of concern in my dog’s searching brown eyes. I slice the tomato, feed him the ends, and know he will now love me forever. Then I dip the eggplant slices in egg and breadcrumbs. The telephone rings, and with a sigh, I answer. I smile, though, as soon as I hear my daughter’s voice, just checking in, ending with ‘love you mom.’ Seconds later, my clean-faced husband checks out my dinner preparations, opens a bottle, and hands me a glass of garnet-red wine. ..we toast – “love you” – clink glasses, and I see the colors change around me – the clear lucid light of reality becomes fuzzy with soft rose and warm ivory tones. I’m there. I’ve reached my weekend Zen, and I take a deep breath and soak it in before answering the call of the oven timer.