It’s been nearly two years since the small wild thing began to visit again. At first, he was crafty. He snuck in without my noticing, drawn to residual warmth from being close to loved ones; he crept into a grey-blue dewy mornings next to my coffee and fried eggs; he materialized with tiny sharp fangs behind bracing wind, the kind that makes you suck in sharply and feel alive. He was skittish at first, came and went as he pleased. But over time, the little animal (call him Love or Affection or Yearning) started to linger.
The feeling is familiar, like something I lost and learned to get by without, but haven’t forgotten. At first I didn’t think I wanted to remember what it felt like to love that way, but something in me decided I did, and I (weak soul I am) put up little protest. So when this wild feeling came around, instead of turning towards Business At Hand, I started to feed him a little daydream or sweet memory and he grew bolder.
The warm, growly fellow is now a regular guest, barging in at inopportune moments, associating himself with people and situations where he doesn’t (yet) belong. Last Saturday morning, out of the blue, he nestled up inside me, filled my belly then chest so he couldn’t be ignored. By the time I got home, he’d dug his claws into my throat til it was hard to breathe and my eyes got wet. I curled up in bed for the afternoon and placated him with poems and nostalgia.
It worked, but it’s clear this soft, fierce little orphan creature needs more to thrive.
For now, we’ll make do with brisk mornings, writing, the ocean, more red wine than is typical, listening to good music (gongs!) with our eyes closed, and lavishing attention on people and things who make us feel deeply. When the going gets especially rough, we’ll feed ourselves on busyness.
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June 12, 2012 No Comments
Are the very best way to start the day.
My phone fell out of my pocket while biking to work on Friday. Before I could retrieve it, a construction truck rolled by and crunched it. The guts still work so I can her buzzing every time I get a message, but the screen’s completely kaputt. So I know the messages are there, but I can’t see them: kind of a funny metaphor for how communication goes between people sometimes.
So last night, I got an email from my Jieh telling me that baby eagles are called eaglets (something we’d been trying to remember on our Sunday ride out on Harsen’s Island). In the morning, there was another note telling me to come over for breakfast early because Jieh had made the most delicious rhubarb blackberry buttermilk cake and I should have some.
A little after seven, post a.m. ablutions and some puttering about, I biked over with boiled eggs and strawberries and a tube of sunscreen to stash in Jieh’s car for our next adventure.
I arranged some cake on two of Jieh’s pretty ceramic plates and halved the eggs and sprinkled them with special soy; we made coffee and poured ourselves some mango lassi and went outside to the deck. It was sunny and fresh in that dewy morning sort of way and we enjoyed it as we ate our breakfast and talked about our day and upcoming travel. Jieh’s Asian hubby (the other essential member of our little clan) came down from his apartment with adorable bed head and drip coffee and we enjoyed each others company til it was time for me to go and start my day in earnest.
I miss my Daniels and the Chan Clan, and I feel so blessed to have found my way into our little family here in Detroit. It means a lot to belong.
Photo of Harsen’s Island by mdprovost
May 14, 2012 No Comments