These poor Japanese anemones can’t even stand up. They just lay there on the walk way. I think they are exhausted from living up to the expectations of being constantly full of life, constantly putting on a good show, never wanting to be less, always more, more, more…..
Honestly I think they are looking forward to winter and dying back to months of waiting in the dark and not being looked at. Not having to perform and maybe not even returning in Spring just to avoid the inevitable collapse.
I get that. Sometimes I am just too tired, too sad, too something. And I falter.
This morning at the gym someone asked how I was doing because I was a few minutes later than usual getting in the door. It felt good that she noticed and that she watched me that much to know. I told her I did not know why I was late but I did know that I suddenly wanted to be fifty years old….not seventy-five. She laughed and told me she never wanted to be younger….she had already done that time and was in the “now”.
I thought, maybe sixty then. If sixty I could live all those good times over again and be more intentional about it…remember to tell myself that when I was seventy-five, life would be different. At seventy-five you start having to practice saying good bye to people and things and you think you should have been better prepared for those good byes.
I am holding onto the sad things from last week. Tears sit on the edge just waiting to race down my face and encourage others to follow. The simplest thing will start the flow. A friend sent a message that simply said, “Thinking of you, us, and sending love.” I looked at her tiny quarter inch photo next to the message and let the tears fall. If I was sixty I would have that experience of meeting her all over again and squeeze even more out of our time together.
It is better if friends do not say nice things and ask kind questions, better if they just use me to talk about themselves. It is easier to listen than to speak. I don’t have to worry about words getting stuck and I can make noises instead that sound like I am paying attention. All they want is someone to listen and all I want is to keep my feelings from becoming words.
Lee is napping so I can get this done. Put feelings on paper so to speak. My handwriting has gotten so bad that writing in a journal seems like too much work. But I should try it. I should also try drawing in a journal. Since a group of friends and I are going to spend next month doing a drawing a day, just for the month, maybe I can write some words to go with the drawings. It will help get those thoughts away from those tears.
I must say that my tears have no where else to go but down my face because my eye doctor put plugs in the tear ducts to help prevent “dry eye.” And suddenly that seems funny. I always fought to keep myself and my feeling private and now they just spill out. I would love to think that I could collect those tears and add a pigment so I could write with them. Wouldn’t that be a wonderful thing to do!
But this will pass. It has to. I need to get on with things.
Yesterday a man came who fixed our pond so it would not leak any more. A person who knows how to fix things is rare here the area. I used to count on Lee to do things like that. Today I showed Lee how to use the vacuum to suck up leaves on the porch. The last time he “cleaned” the porch he brought in his leaf blower and sent everything flying about. It’s funny now but wasn’t then.
Sorry there are not more pictures. Today was a day for words that needed this space.