Old Things in New Times...

Food digestion is an interesting thing to me...How long it takes meat to digest as compared to a boiled, mushied pea just makes sense. I heard it takes more than 24 hours for a human body to digest one bite of steak. When I think of the huge T-bones I used to consume at a sitting, along with those butter and sour creamed boats of potatoes...I am surprised that I was hungry ever again. Memories and life are like food digestion.

Having over half of a century on this oddly meandering path that is my journey, looking backwards I tend to remember best the "steak" times, the meatier memories. We all have them. The milestones: certain birthdays, the first kisses, the first orgasms, the first funerals of people we depended on, to say nothing of weddings and births and...well, you get it. Those are the meat of our memories, and ones that take much digestion and much of what stays with us as we move on to other days. The funny thing is, although those memories are with me in a familiar level each day, it is the less meaty memories, the "peas" so to speak, that I work at digging up and re-visiting in my quieter moments.

I let myself sink back into my memories of "a regular day"...of a day I would get up and get ready for work and walk into my next minute with no distinction between today and tomorrow. Our lives are made up of those days, the days that build the foundation for our "special Steak day memory"...days we walk through without consideration of it being the only day, that day, that we will ever see again. "Getting through" it seems to be all it is worth. Contrary to what it seems like, those are the days that I concentrate on and enjoy wallowing in...those days that are vague and long ago, and blending into my meatier memories like applesauce filling in the hollows.

Closing my eyes, sitting in my wonderful easy chair, I let myself slip back through old days, sifting my "meat" and my "peas".... Usually, I choose the "pea" days to wallow in. I bring up memories of, as a young girl, brushing my little sister's hair...careful not to pull the tangles, and smelling her little-girlness in the shampoo waftings as I brush her airy hair into a pony-tail. I think of the warmth and steady comfort as I cuddle into my mom's soft side when she reads the chicken scratch on the pages that say things like, "...and I shan't get home tonite" about a little old woman and a stick, stick that beats pig... I wallow even more in the memories of an every-day time when my chubby little baby boy giggles on the floor as I sweep my hair over his sweet face to make him laugh when I say "boo."

Another memory pea happens in a time lost to me when I worked in a wonderful group home facility in Oregon. The people I "took care of" (who were actually my teachers in disguise) and the everyday-ness of our lives together as we taught each other and became entwined as family rises as a foggy pea memory. Marilyn, my sweet friend, had multiple "issues" the least being that she was developmentally delayed...with her useless tiny little legs, but overwhelmingly huge toothless smiles...who just wanted to "marry" every man who walked into her vicinity. I think she even asked me to marry her once. The sadness and the sweetness of the lives within that home lives on in the misty pea memory of my mind. Michelle, whose intelligence could not even be tested due to her multiple "disabilities" was an amazing teacher and excellent confidant, since she could not "talk" like us, but communicated by smiling and laughing so hard we thought she might die from lack of air...but who kept laughing in spite of the peril.

The memory of feelings are my pea memories I hold precious. Remembering walking, alone, on a sandy beach growing up...feeling the sand grains soften my hardened barefoot soles and smelling the bay water of fish and rain. Memories of the quiet excitement of having my grandparents join us on a Saturday, slicing the luncheon meat and cheese and being lovingly teased by a grampa who smelled like love and laughing and potato chips warm from the box.

More recent pea memories are even more poignant. The lurch of love and joy when, after answering the phone with my Caleb's number introducing it, and hearing his voice saying, "life is so great, mom...I'm okay"....I love that. And having my littlest child, with lengthening legs and bones jutting into the soft areas of my middle age, cuddling and resting as a familiar nest...I know those days are too soon lost, and he will join his brother out in the world, making and digesting his own "steak and peas"...I can only hope that they find me someplace in the sweet pea memories of their mind, too.

Yup. Digestion of food is like digestion of life. Building memories and nourishing our lives to help us keep walking and keep traveling until we can reach a destination that is made just for us. Whatever it may be.....

November in North Carolina, through one old lady's glasses...

I think, next year, I would like to skip over October and jump right into mid-November. Choreographing my year, I will have to remember to add that simple leap into the dance.

I have immersed myself into old music, and "new" old music just to calm my jagged spirit. Having fallen into the bottom half of my "half full glass" in October, trying to swim to the top, only to be met with the hot air of mid-term elections, then gulping and grasping for a savior to keep me afloat while I search for the sand bar...music seems to be the life-float I needed. And not just any old music, but music that once touched my soul and filled me with strength and sorrow and joy, all at once. I have been listening to Tom Waits, Gordon LIghtfoot, Harry Chapin, and Joan Baez...musicians who I feel familiar and safe with...all whom carry my sadness with grace and share their voice in harmony, even while fighting for goodness and tolerance.

The mid-term election threw me for a loop. As you can tell, I am not one of those people who "got what they wanted" with the outcome. There was no rejoicing for me, no "Booyahs" pouring forth from my lips. I still feel like "the American People" made a bad choice, and the Poor Loser that I have tried to tame and civilize, rises up from within if I spend too much time thinking about it. I have learned many things from this election, and still have many curiosities regarding human psychology, but I am finding some footing along with learning about friendship and kindness. I have always been a vocal, politically minded person...partial to words, always, and fairly warrior-like when it comes to issues of humanity and generosity. I hope, in the long run, to be able to have an epitaph that my sons will be proud of, in my fight for human rights and justices, and that my spirit will be interpreted instead of my words.

I lost a few friends on this little jaunt. It is sad, a bit, but I feel assuaged knowing it wasn't MY choice and I will be here when they calm down and learn that Friendship is more important than an opinion. I give great KUDOS to the friends I have in my life, who hold some beliefs extremely opposite of mine, who remain with me and understand that although extreme in some things, are tied by a cord stronger than the moment. Knowing I can simply say, "I'm sorry for my harsh words, and I am glad you understand..." makes me love them even more. It doesn't mean we are ever going to agree, but it means that we are more valuable to each other for the dimension and perspective we can share...