From worrier to warrior
Rough Valentines Day, never even considered that before. It's like I carry around my career, my school, and my life all in the same little satchel although it feels mighty heavy. There are ghosts living in my mouth. Lorena expands and I shrink, counting and seeing all the ribs front to back. I wish I could play music on them. I'm glad he has a beard to hide how thin his face has wandered. He's got that glassy eyed look that tells me he's not home anymore.
Sometimes there are faint embers; watching telenovelas. I tell him to make up a story and he gives a lively account of how one woman lost her child. At the end he's told me how he feels about me...that my grandmother would be proud. Why should we only praise when we are dying. Ironically, I can tell people how I feel (the little positive things) most days but with him I cannot. Molly wrote him a letter and he cried reading it. Why cannot I do that? Now he's so far gone I wonder if it would even matter. Pull out the special inks, pens, that thick parchment paper. I don't have any regrets but I wonder if I will.
Free time plans/daydreaming a.k.a dates with myself:
-free day at the art museum
-Ghengis Kahn exhibit at the natural history museum
-films at old familiar haunts
- trying Stuben's, the Watercourse and old clothes shopping (guess I need to pick a dress for the funeral sometime too)
-the aquarium
-backpacking
-pilgrimage to hometown and visits with old friends
-go to Florence and pick out a typewriter with a detour to see Ecco
-seeing Marry Poppins with family and Fiddler by self
I guess I'd just like to float away.
Much affection,
Mara
Sometimes there are faint embers; watching telenovelas. I tell him to make up a story and he gives a lively account of how one woman lost her child. At the end he's told me how he feels about me...that my grandmother would be proud. Why should we only praise when we are dying. Ironically, I can tell people how I feel (the little positive things) most days but with him I cannot. Molly wrote him a letter and he cried reading it. Why cannot I do that? Now he's so far gone I wonder if it would even matter. Pull out the special inks, pens, that thick parchment paper. I don't have any regrets but I wonder if I will.
Free time plans/daydreaming a.k.a dates with myself:
-free day at the art museum
-Ghengis Kahn exhibit at the natural history museum
-films at old familiar haunts
- trying Stuben's, the Watercourse and old clothes shopping (guess I need to pick a dress for the funeral sometime too)
-the aquarium
-backpacking
-pilgrimage to hometown and visits with old friends
-go to Florence and pick out a typewriter with a detour to see Ecco
-seeing Marry Poppins with family and Fiddler by self
I guess I'd just like to float away.
Much affection,
Mara