passion tea. turquoise mug.
It's been more than a month since my last entry... I'm not sure I've ever gone that long. Insanity. Thirty days fly when you're trying to slow time down. So many hours of massages yet to give, essays to write, books to read, lemon cakes and scones and pies to bake for the Farmers' Markets which start this week, and endless loads of linens to wash.
But not tonight.
Tonight it's all redpurple passion tea in a turquoise mug. It's a woven flax linen blanket spread over a lap and a chocolate cupcake made by a much-beloved roommate. I'm trying to run away from the things that are stressing me out. Finances, mostly. It's hard that these financial concerns are so crucial but also so short-term. This is a very different stress from the stress of college or the stress of grantwriting deadlines or emotional stress. Can I afford these organic apples? How long can the gas light be on, anyway? I have no idea how to darn these socks... I'll be so happy to put these worries behind me once I'm able to. But I'm also trying to be deeply thankful for all of the things I do have. After all, this life of mine is a lovely one and I've been receiving so many wonderful things from the Universe. I just have to focus on that and offer thanks. Thankyouthankyou.
Life now for me is an endless stream of tactile sensations. Slick black cupcake batter sliding through the spaces in the mixer paddle; clustered bundles of fascia and nerves and sheathed tendon roping under the skin; catching the ends of my hair through the slice and snip of a baker cutting inches off outside between lunch orders; the scalding burn of my wrist against the oven racks or the inexplicable cuts on my fingers that I seem to get almost daily. My hands are becoming maps of my days in their scars and nicks and roughness by the knuckles. The muscles of my forearms are so different now than they were in September. My palms too. Even the lines have shifted. Old creases are gone, new ones formed. One of my "marriage lines" has almost completely disappeared and I wonder what that means. A Fame Line is there where it wasn't before. Which is... come on, absolutely ridiculous.
I came across a Mary Oliver poem that I am completely loving. Here is part of it...a homecoming.
wherever else i live-
in music, in words,
in the fires of the heart,
i abide just as deeply
in this nameless, indivisible place,
this world,
which is falling apart now,
which is white and wild,
which is faithful beyond all our expressions of faith,
our deepest prayers.
don’t worry, sooner or later i’ll be home.
red-cheeked from the roused wind,
i’ll stand in the doorway
stamping my boots and slapping my hands,
my shoulders
covered with stars.
From "Walking Home From Oak-Head"
But not tonight.
Tonight it's all redpurple passion tea in a turquoise mug. It's a woven flax linen blanket spread over a lap and a chocolate cupcake made by a much-beloved roommate. I'm trying to run away from the things that are stressing me out. Finances, mostly. It's hard that these financial concerns are so crucial but also so short-term. This is a very different stress from the stress of college or the stress of grantwriting deadlines or emotional stress. Can I afford these organic apples? How long can the gas light be on, anyway? I have no idea how to darn these socks... I'll be so happy to put these worries behind me once I'm able to. But I'm also trying to be deeply thankful for all of the things I do have. After all, this life of mine is a lovely one and I've been receiving so many wonderful things from the Universe. I just have to focus on that and offer thanks. Thankyouthankyou.
Life now for me is an endless stream of tactile sensations. Slick black cupcake batter sliding through the spaces in the mixer paddle; clustered bundles of fascia and nerves and sheathed tendon roping under the skin; catching the ends of my hair through the slice and snip of a baker cutting inches off outside between lunch orders; the scalding burn of my wrist against the oven racks or the inexplicable cuts on my fingers that I seem to get almost daily. My hands are becoming maps of my days in their scars and nicks and roughness by the knuckles. The muscles of my forearms are so different now than they were in September. My palms too. Even the lines have shifted. Old creases are gone, new ones formed. One of my "marriage lines" has almost completely disappeared and I wonder what that means. A Fame Line is there where it wasn't before. Which is... come on, absolutely ridiculous.
I came across a Mary Oliver poem that I am completely loving. Here is part of it...a homecoming.
wherever else i live-
in music, in words,
in the fires of the heart,
i abide just as deeply
in this nameless, indivisible place,
this world,
which is falling apart now,
which is white and wild,
which is faithful beyond all our expressions of faith,
our deepest prayers.
don’t worry, sooner or later i’ll be home.
red-cheeked from the roused wind,
i’ll stand in the doorway
stamping my boots and slapping my hands,
my shoulders
covered with stars.
From "Walking Home From Oak-Head"