Sunday Free Flow

Clears throat and channels inner radio personality, "It's 8:00 am, and what a beautiful Sunday morning it is in the Valley of the Sun. We're blowing off the dust and digging deep into the mental crates with DeBarge's 1983 hit, "A Dream". This goes out to all you gettin' old heads in denial and the silly youngsters who think the melody was stolen from the much later, but still great Tupac. Enjoy."

Eight something; surprising given last night's restlessness. It had to be two, or later when I finally shut down and agreed--after some gentle coaxing from the man, that it was time to retire for the day and from the worry.

My little place of peace is looking exceptionally tidy this morning; Yael is pulling out all the stops in exchange for a much coveted piece of Vampire Diaries replica jewelry. She's been so helpful since my surgery that it sorta makes up for the pubescent insanity that we've been struggling with since the separation.

I feel refreshed and ready for something fabulous today...or maybe I'm just ready for someone fabulous; Michael plans to visit soon. We're returning to center for a restorative breath after a few tender weeks. The distance has its advantages logistically as we're both adapting to major life changes, but there's no logic in love or the 2484.97 miles between us. We're pining.

My container garden is a great source of pride for me right now. Who could have known gardening would be so therapeutic. For so many years, I've been a notorious black thumb. I started the garden in December when Jordan moved out. I needed a distraction, and of course, something to nurture. Since then, I've taken on spider mites (and lost), aphids (and won), germinatin', propagatin', and harvesting. I'm sort of a big deal on the balcony. Laughs.

Coffee's tepid, gotta go.

Peace and Sunshine

Happy Returns

Early last week , I partook in a casual, neighborly chat which later manifested itself into an inspirational message. And, not just any inspirational message, but the push, the gentle nudge and the writing help I believe I needed.

During my morning walk, I came upon my neighbor Joe, a lanky older gentleman with a warm smile, an awkward gait and a plethora of knowledge about the goings-on in our complex. (More on the complexities of complex-dwelling for an introvert in posts to come.) As we made our way and routine niceties were out of the way, Joe cleared his throat and sort of randomly says, "Uh...yeah, I made it to church this Sunday." I smiled- in kind, at the sharing of information, in awkward embarrassment because I am not among the faith-filled, and lastly, in fear that the friendly talks that I've become quite fond of might somehow be thwarted if I don't play this right. (It should be known that I die inside a little each time socio politics, religion, race and education are presented for discussion.)

"Oh, did you, I say. How did it go? Excitedly, he tells me, "wonderfully, it was truly awesome". He said he was "moved" by the message and it really made him "feel great". Before I could vocalize my shared happiness at his experience, his tone and demeanor changed, just above a whisper, he leans in and says, "It's been two and a half years since I've been to church." He then winces, retreats, and I- lost for a moment turned slightly over my shoulder before realizing he was awaiting some sort of ...well, I dunno denouncement, admonishment, a verbal flogging? From me? Laughs. "I see", I say whilst nodding with my brows raised in intrigue.

Looking ahead, I mentally compute our speed of travel- which is nil, and the distance home, and proceed cautiously with, "Well, why not?" After a brief back-story about logistics and his own travails with the evil that is Divorce-asaurus Rex, he says "I just got away from it, and then it got to be so long to where I just got to feeling so bad about it that I thought I couldn't go back." I nodded, with the sides of my mouth down-turned, I find ASL has made my facial expressions more pronounced. As I catch myself doing this in lieu of speaking, I-a little past the cue, offer up a validating statement. "I see", I said, in a flat tone. I did see, and with much clarity.

Writing, and of course reading others' writing, is how I receive my message; it's how I make sense of the thoughts and feelings, the experiences, worries and fears that fill the space between my ears. Like my neighbor Joe, I suffered a few setbacks on the road I'd paved with good intentions and drifted woefully away from my place of peace. I too, felt as though I couldn't come back. I've maintained this blog since 2007, and through the years I have made incredible friendships, coming back has been hard, but staying away was harder. Two and a half years, four months...who's counting?

Peace and happy returns