Being a writer and artist; being a daughter who cares for her 91 year old Mother; being a partner to one of the most wonderful men in the world: well let’s just say life doesn’t get much better. To be my age and have stories to tell; and a spirit to ensure I will make many more, brings a life to my step and most likely, many. I suppose I have a lot of time to live in my head—simply by the nature of my days.
It’s been an arduous month, since I last posted. Significant change weighed in, the kind of changes which carve out a new you: The kind of changes which redefine your past in delightful and grateful ways. The kinds of changes, where you are forced to say good-bye to those you have lived a life with or engaged in daily conversations. The kind of changes which make you keenly aware of all you’ve seen and all you haven’t. Time used to be something I wouldn’t pay much attention to; but today it’s like a shadow connected to me forever.
As I tick through the boxes of what I’ve seen; I swiftly go to who I’ve been. Which takes me on a cerebral ride to whom or what would I like to be, that I can never be. I started out with the obvious: a few dead people—you know them: Voltaire; Emerson; Roger Miller (that is not a misprint, I mean to say Roger Miller).
I think of all the things I couldn’t be simply because they are not typically seen; is it possible to be the effect from the cause. Or, visa-versa. Regardless; I rack up quite a list, as I jot thoughts down through the day. I find it inspiring; refreshing and it packs a wind which blows this month’s difficult odyssey off my path, reminding me there is much more life to live.
And in all of those thoughts, I suddenly found myself restringing my ukulele with the notion to start playing very un-ukulele songs. I found myself chortling about what ifs while pruning roses in the garden; and I suddenly didn’t care that I had still not washed the house’s windows. They will be there when the time arrives to do it. This is something I can set a clock by, it’s always so true.
I always fancy thinking what is around me that I cannot see. But for the life of me, it’s still a kick in the trousers to see all I CAN see around me, while I walk blindly through it; not giving it one moment’s thought. I found myself lying back on the couch looking up at the cedar-grooved planks in my ceiling and wondering where they came from. Who chopped the trees; lathed them; tongue and grooved them. All of these stories living around me: none of which I know. I am rarely that engaged. Which is contrary to how I see myself, but, I guess it’s true.
Space; dreams; memories—they are all partners in time. Time, something humans have assigned as the maestro dictating our rhythms and our man-made appointments with life, not even to pause to realize time is not linear—its explosive. And so, I dared to take a moment and imagine what is it I might like to be, but cannot live to be it. It’s an interesting exercise, possibly telling; possibly not; but for me personally, I found a whimsy and in some ways—a longing:
The sound of the bell on Wall Street.
The latest word entered into the dictionary.
The cackle of a 6 month old.
The breeze blowing through a lover’s head of hair.
The sparkle in the eye of a new Mother.
A drop of dew, falling from the blossom of a bleeding heart.
A squirrel racing up the tree of a 100 year old cedar.
The flame’s flicker from a campfire.
The tone of fine crystal.
A colorful shoelace that makes one smile when they are looking down.
The romance of the cherry blossom.
That feeling one has when they see the moon peek out from a cloudy night’s sky.
A feathered twitter-pater suspended by magic on a blue-sky day.
A first kiss.
The refreshing scent of the Pacific’s salty-ocean air.
The rustle of the autumn leaves.
And I think my favorite: a lucky penny waiting to be picked up.
I could go on and on; but again, will save you my blather. (Yes, let’s admit it: I do blather some times.) But have you ever thought about it? What would it be like to be a cactus under the desert sun; or the bellow of a sea lion echoing through a cave? A shooting star? Oh heavens, there I go again.
I don’t think I am off of my mark. Do you? I imagine all of us have these thoughts from time to time. Next time you find some quiet: fishing; waking from a nap; watching a sun rise, think about it… it’s a wonderful ride and points of views you may have never seen or been before.