|
|||
Mom's
This postcard was brought to us by a friend who heard the news of Paul's death when she was in Thailand. The next day she saw this bird and remembered that there was some symbolic connection between white peacocks and death in Thailand. Donate a Mammogram And of course, don't forget... I am a theatre critic OK...so it's a new "career", but if you're interested in reading my reviews, go here WHAT I'M READING Lynn left this book for me; I'd just seen a discussion on Oprah about it and was anxious to read it. That's it for today!
|
BLOWING IN THE WIND 8 February 2001 9:30 a.m. I sit in the darkened house. The lights are off to save on electricity; the curtains are closed to keep in the heat. Outside the wind is howling. It’s the kind of wind I associate with September. A relentless wind that makes you feel like curling up into a safe little ball. There will be a full moon tomorrow night, so it’s nearly full at the moment. I learned to believe in the power of a full moon when the kids were little. I was never one who planned my life around astrological signs or shifts of planets or anything like that, but I learned that if I had a day when all the kids were bouncing off the wall and I felt like I was going to explode, I would check the calendar, and sure enough it would be either the day of a full moon, or the day before or after. When you add the persistent wind to the full moon, is it any wonder that I’m feeling like a caged tiger. I drink coffee and the wind blows. My legs begin to bounce up and down compulsively. I find I’m too restless to sit at the desk and I wander out into the darkened kitchen. I eat. I shouldn’t. I’m not hungry. But I eat anyway. I drink coffee. And the wind blows. My brain fills with thoughts and images and feelings and the wind blows. The windows and walls shake, the trees rock back and forth, and I drink more coffee. Pictures float through my mind. People I love. People I’ve lost. People I miss. Tears come. So I drink coffee and I eat and the wind howls. I sit down to work. In the background Regis chatters with Isabella Rosellini and Jason Priestly. I start transcription and the familiar voice drones on and on. It sputters and stops and starts and hesitates and repeats and edits. In frustration, I throw the earplugs down and drink coffee. And the wind howls. I check e-mail, but everyone I want to hear from is working or sleeping and I know there will be none. There is none. I have to go back to work. But the wind howls and the tears come. I think of getting dresssed, but the pajamas are too comfortable and it seems too much trouble to put on clothes. I drink more coffee and the wind howls and I fight the tears. I pull myself together. I must concentrate on getting work done. I drink coffee, my legs bounce, and the wind howls... 11:00 a.m. An hour of mind-numbing web "stuff"--emails, journals, message boards, etc, and I’ve finally calmed myself down. Katie and Matt are checking out crib sheets with some consumer organization representative. The wind still howls, but it doesn’t seem as intrusive as it was before. I check outside for snail mail, but the mailman has not come yet. The wind whips through me as I open the door. Newscasters say the wind chill factor made the temps seem as low as 19 this morning. Winds are blowing at 30-35 mph. I load the dishwasher. Lynn is coming back tonight. I need to get the kitchen cleaned up. Fortunately there isn’t much to clean...it was pretty much cleaned last night. I’ve stopped eating, the coffee is finished, the legs are still bouncing nervously, but now it’s time to get serious about working. And the wind continues to blow. 2:30 p.m. There is a strange quiet. The wind has slowed to a gentle breeze. It is time for me to drive to Sacramento to visit a friend. As I get on the freeway, the trees are swaying softly, no longer whipping around wildly. I listen to the familiar tunes on the CD and the thoughts come, the memories come, the tears sting at the eyes, but I smile as well. There are good memories. Memories to keep me warm when the chilly wind whips through me on a winter afternoon. I spend time with my friend. We drink water and cola and nibble at nuts and crackers and we talk about the paths our lives have taken and the unexpected twists and turns. We cry. We laugh. We revel in the many years of our friendship. The sun is setting as I turn the wheels of the car homeward. Rush hour traffic is just starting, the sun is shining in my eyes, making me squint. But the wind has stopped and the tears have stopped and as I get off the freeway, I see that a gigantic moon is rising over the snow-capped Sierras, looking like the cover for some science fiction novel. The car turns into the driveway. There is new work waiting for me, a meeting to attend tonight, and Lynn to pick up at the airport at 10:30. No time to think about the wind or the moon or dwell on memories. No time for tears. It’s time to pick up the work and get back to thinking about life. |
||
Some pictures from this journal |
<- previous | Journal home | bio | cast | archive | next -> |
||
Created 2/7/01 by Bev Sykes |
|||
