Days like these mean a lot when you’ve had the blues. My little patio means a lot when I’ve had the blues. This breeze off the lake means everything. I’d go out on it in the blue kayak, but it’s just too windy to row against. It’d be fantastic, though, the waves on the lake rocking my little boat, spilling over around my heels.
Yeah, I’ve had the blues, mostly solitude, the loneliness of a divorced woman who had been married for a very long time and just can’t seem to find romance of any kind… (by the way, invitations to have anal sex do not constitute romance, guys). The man I really loved, months ago, decided to back off, and now my little “niece” (though in my heart she is more the baby sister I never had) is going away with mommy and daddy for a full month. I’m gonna miss little Molly’s smile, the heart-melting way she cries (like ice cream melting in mid July), and her warmth in those magical moments when she’s feeling shy or overwhelmed and she burrows into me to protect her. In those moments I become the lioness protecting her cubs, and there’s no room for anything else in my heart or mind but her needs. In those moments I know what clarity really means. Then of course there is the continuous chromatic drone of the exhausting battles and demons I fight day after day and year by year. I get worn down. But, as I drove into town today the big blue of the sky invited me to take stock of all I have. When the sky speaks to you, it’s best to listen, to answer, and follow the big blue wherever it needs to lead you.
I drove on under that very sky, past palm trees and Spanish moss, and knew I’d made it. I’m no longer in cloudy cold shithole Ohio, I’m in Florida, sunny Florida, exactly where I’ve always wanted to be. Nope, no California dreaming for me, no desire to go to Colorado or Washington to be in the mountains with all the other hippies, no, no thank you, I’ll take these swamps. You can have the mountain air, I’ll take the rich earthy air of the swamps and the deliciously fresh wet smell of the lake
I knew everything was going to be alright as I drove into the center of town, the taste of Indian food from Andaz on my mind, and the anticipation in knowing that I would be welcomed by my friends. Somehow it always seems a little easier with Indians, it seems to me they listen more, and are more comfortable with not only duality, but emotion–high emotion! Though, I know, I am generalizing. Of course, once I arrived the welcome was as sweet as ever, and the food spicy and everything I needed it to be, and the Masala Chai was perfect today, perfect for sipping and setting aside the noise in my head long enough to sigh and be grateful for each warm spice in the chai… oh, and for everything else. As I was paying my bill, one of the new guys came up and asked me if my fangs were original.
I said, “My fangs? These are just my teeth!” He smiled admiringly and told me I was lucky. I added that they make me look more like a tigress. I went to my car, sat and looked in the rearview mirror… I never really noticed, but sure enough, I do have fangs! I’ve always hated my teeth, crooked as hell, but I guess when perfectly normal canines are crooked enough to be turned ever so slightly outward they do indeed look like fangs. “Lucky?” I guess. This might explain the desire I have once in a while for certain people’s blood.
After admiring my fangs I went barefoot (of course) to one of my little weekly jobs, Badfinger blaring away in the background as I worked, rather like now.
The eagles have begun to speak. I can hear them in the trees. I live under the wings of bald eagles and walk the same ground dinosaurs (alligators) walk, and I just know if I sit here long enough the deer and wild turkeys will gingerly find their way across our lawn.
I had thought of going into town to my beautiful little studio to work, SAW, one more place I know that allows me to be my ever barefoot self, but the lake was calling me, and now that I am looking out over it, the eagles are calling me as well, inviting me to let go and fly. Though this silly pink body can’t fly, I don’t mind, I can let the wind and eagles do the flying for me, and the music, too.
In the background, my windows open, “Coppertone Blues” (from “7 Park Avenue”), the solo music of Pete Ham (of Badfinger) flies out my window on the wind, and I know what I am.
I am not my worries, not my loneliness, I am this… and this is me…
And I am home!
I am finally home.
And as I wind down, with little else to say, Pete Ham’s delicious “Dawn” fades down, and the wild psychedelia of “I’ve Been Waiting” reminds me that I need to take another hit and take a barefoot walk up the dirt road, after all, on a day like this, there’s only so much a computer has to offer.