Observations from the Invisibility Cloak

When I was 28 and writing poetry, I wrote a poem lamenting the feeling that I was invisible because I was no longer the youngest, cutest thing on the block --- and I had become a mother. Now I'm in my sixties and really invisible. And I like it!

Monday, February 24, 2014

Jazz and Love

I suddenly feel like I'm in a time warp.

We spent the day working at home, Jill in the yard, me scrubbing floors and baseboards on hands and knees, Pandora disco channel at warp sound ---- shakin' that booty and gettin' down.

After several hours, we sat on the swing in the backyard sunshine, then I fixed a tray of snacks ---- cheese, olives, two kinds of (gluten free) crackers, celery with cream cheese and cocktails. All right. Shirley Temples, with Maraschino cherries, of course. Served in glasses suitable for Old-Fashioneds. On the deck.

Followed, after showers and feeding of the kids (critters), by steaks on the grill, baked potatoes and salad for dinner, and then coffee. Disco station replaced by Jazz station on Pandora. Dancing in the kitchen, cheek to cheek. 

You'd think it was 1958. Except for the lesbian part. And gluten free. And no alcohol. Well, and Jill wasn't born till 1960.

It's how I thought life would be when I was grown up ---- all marriage and jazz and steak dinners. I just didn't have the details quite right. 

But you know what? It's exactly what I want. Life isn't perfect, or always easy. There are plenty more veggie-wrap-and-tomato-soup dinners than steak. The house is not usually this clean, and by tomorrow it will be once again blanketed in dirt and sticks and leaves that the dogs bring in. Happiness can be elusive, worry can assert its ugly presence. But this is it. This is what I wanted, exactly and completely, and I'm overcome with gratitude tonight.

I'm not sure it gets any better than this.

Wednesday, February 12, 2014

Dare I Say Snow?

There is nothing quite like an anticipatory snow day in the Southland. It's like church, only quieter. Nothing is happening and nobody is moving. Ordinarily, by this time of the morning, school buses would be chugging along, people would be going to work, the garbage truck would be snatching up containers with it's big, noisy claw. But even the birds are hiding.

It could not be like this in my native Iowa. You can't cease to carry on when you live in a place that is cold and snowy six months out of the year. You become inured to it, bundled up, head down, getting by. But here in the land of sunshine, where thirty degrees is a calamity, when the weatherfolk breathe the S word, life comes to a halt. And I love it!

Where else do you get out of school and work before a single flake is spotted? It fits our culture, the strong belief that there are more important things in life than making a buck. Sometimes, everybody needs a day of rest, and the unscheduled ones are the best. It's the sudden opportunity to do something out of the ordinary ---- read a novel, watch a movie, play games, clean out a closet, organize the photos, split a pot of tea and talk, paint a picture, take a nap. All the things we wish we had time for during the busy, over-scheduled days.

Yes, on TV they're making it sound like we're all going to die. Yes, there's the very real possibility that ice will bring down the power lines and life will take a sudden turn for the worse. But in the meantime, in the pause that comes before the storm, when anticipation is ascendant and anything is possible, it's good to remember that we never know what's going to happen next ---- not even on an ordinary work-a-day Wednesday ---- and there is always room for surprise.

Bring on the hot chocolate. Today, I'm tasting the sweetness of life without a plan.