I recently finished a journal notebook – now labelled May 30, 2020 – Nov 24, 2020
May 30 “…I might forget how to have real live conversations with people…
It’s cold out. Our weather is all over the map. May held the coldest May day on record and the 5th hottest May day on record. last night was 2 degrees….
Maybe I can get through it better if I frame it as ending in January. I can always reframe in November.
My dog is bored. I should mow the lawn. Get beer. Do all the things. Pass school. Do my job. Lose weight. Be an ally. Stand up. Save the world.”
June 1st “Yesterday I called Valentine Domino and the kids laughed because “that was so many dogs ago” – we are telling time by dogs.
June 5th “It’s going to be another hot day. I’m figuring on buying asparagus. I’m figuring on gassing up the van. I might be OK living like this forever.”
June 7th “The dog is chasing a bumble bee. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to teach him to catch flies but not bumble bees… I like this quiet life. I want to write letters and learn things…. I haven’t peed anywhere but home for over three months. Weird.”
Basically I have liked many features of this slow, quiet life. I liked it more when I had a small bubble of people I could hug. If I could hug, hold hands, and dance to live music – and see clients in person. Oh, no, wait – also dine with others. Maybe thinking I’m fine with all that’s gone is simply because it’s been gone so long.
The new journal notebook starts “This winter will be soups and soft blankets – if this were my house I’d hang heavy curtains on all the windows and reflect within that crushed velvet hush.”
You say you don’t dance
You say you gotta learn
Ah baby come take my hands
Won’t you give me a turn
Spin me out, skirt a’swirling
Then bring me in real close
I like everyone when I’m dancing
But I’d like you the most.
I wrote so many pages in my regular journal while I was at Mariposa. I hardly used my phone and I talked to more people than I can recall. We talked and shared stories and almost never connected on social media. We just moved along with our weekends. I like it.
I also saw friends and acquaintances and hugged some favourite people. I kind of miss Mariposa.
I only just got home Monday evening and since then I went to Merry Wives of Windsor in Stratford one night and I’m working a concert at my home theatre tonight. Tomorrow is movie night with friends and then it’s Kultun festival and then swing dancing in Hamilton on Sunday. How even if this my life.
That one month (it was September)
our hearts looked squarely at each other
Mine cried out Yes! and clapped its hands
And yours tried to think of a kind way
to excuse itself.
This little rabbit
Has a terrible habit
Of picking his nose and flinging it.
This little heron
Was never preparing
Preferring instead on winging it.
Yesterday I compared you to the Sea and you protested
but the Sea is moody with turbulent depths fed by drowned sorrows.
I sit staring at the Sea, trying and trying to love it enough.
Today I sat by the Sea and wrote a poem about your smile –
how it leaps unexpectedly to your face, radiating an innocent joy
and how, when it appears through something I’ve said or done,
I’m humbled, and feel weak.
I never want to settle. I want to live a tidal life, giving in to the push and pull, slowly waxing and waning, always transitioning from one state of beauty to the next.