Fear
Where is my fear? I immediately think stomach or gut. That is where I feel fear – when I am aware I am feeling it. I don’t feel it often. When I do I am usually on the Beltway just a couple of tailgaters shy of an all out panic attack. If I am alone I might roll up the windows and scream. I did that once. I was driving up from Florida and I hit Richmond at rush hour. I was so tired I was seeing double the day had begun in Georgia where I’d driven for an hour in a fog so thick I couldn’t see the front of the Chrysler New Yorker. It had been my Uncle Paul’s car. Aunt Gladys had decided to give it to me – along with a backseat full of philodendrons, some Ann Murray eight tracks and some pear preserves. There might have been some vinyl records in the back seat too. The trunk was empty except the catalytic converter that Paul had removed from the Chrysler. I was afraid to drive from Jupiter, Florida to Washington, DC alone. But I wanted a car. I didn’t need a car, but I wanted one. Like I was saying, I got to Richmond at rush hour. 95 was full of homeward bound maniacs with some kind of a death wish – all going 80 miles an hour or so it seemed. I rolled up the windows and just screamed. I screamed until I was hoarse. If the other drivers noticed they probably just thought I was singing along with whatever the dj on WNOR was playing. I was surprised when I left Richmond behind and I was still alive. My next challenge was going to be navigating my way though DC traffic and snaking my way to 25th and Q Street. When our apartment building finally came into view I was so grateful I cried. Maybe that was why I misjudged the length of the Chrysler and “tapped” the VW behind me as I tried to parallel park on P Street. I pulled out and drive a few blocks east until I found a spot big enough to just glide into. I left philodendrons, eight tracks and preserves in the car and headed back to our apartment building. It was days before I retrieved the stuff from the backseat. Locating fear. I felt fear the time a couple of kids pointed guns at me outside of RFK Stadium. I felt fear, but my external response was to laugh uncontrollably. I’ve never understood that. I felt a little fear this weekend when I noticed I’d lowered the Boston Whaler into the water without replacing the bilge plug. Luckily Catherine was standing close enough to the lift switch to raise the boat before it sank. I felt fear in a plane once. We flew threw an awful storm. Buffeted by wind. Lightning. Nuns praying. Babies crying. Flight Attendants strapped in. I was feeling fear. I was feeling helpless. Powerless. Which is what always accompanies my fear.
All Good Things are Wild and Free
I have plants in my garden that I don't have names for. I saw a stalk that might be a Yucca this morning. It was leaning in the direction of the wild roses, almost hidden by the brambles next to the butterfly bush. Eden was wild. My dogs are wild. If I'd had children, they would have been wild - like I was. Wild and free, but also frightened and ashamed. I was all those things, but I never realized I was good. I tried to tame my wild hair. Tame my dreams. Tame my desires. When I couldn't do that, I just ran. I let my hair grown long and curly. I stopped looking into mirrors. I stopped looking back. Home disappeared. I disappeared. I was only a memory and my friends and family remembered a very different person than the one I became when I let myself be wild. Fear was replaced by resignation and shame by autonomy that times became apathy. I became as invisible to the people around me as the wind. I became as transparent as water. One day flowed into the next. I drifted further and further away from what was safe and sane. I was truly wild and I could lie spread eagle in the rocks and disappear.
Missing
Where did my contact lens go? After decades of wearing glasses, on Monday I decided – for no apparent reason – to try contacts. Since my right eye is perfect I only have to wear one. I had a lesson after my eye exam and after much difficulty and embarrassment I was able to place the lens successfully in my left eye. Getting it out proved to be more difficult. Then I put it in again. Took it out again. And after the contract lens instructor was satisfied I could insert and remove the lens I was allowed to leave with my new, trial lens and instructions to return in 7 days to be checked again. I wore the lens 5 hours on Tuesday. 6 hours on Wednesday. 7 hours today. But when I tried to take it out this afternoon I couldn’t get it out. After 15 minutes of trying unsuccessfully to extract the lens I decided to go to the contact lens instructor for help. She looked. Her colleague looked. Another colleague looked. They all agreed the lens wasn’t in my eye. “But it was there at 10:00 this morning and I didn’t take it out.”
They looked again. “It’s not there.”
“Close your right eye. Is it blurry?”
“Of course it’s blurry. I’ve been poking myself in the eye for the last half hour.” My eye looked like I’d been on a three day bender.
The three contact lens instructors appeared unconcerned. I was given a lens to replace the missing lens and sent on my way.
Is it my imagination or is that pesky lens curled up in the corner of my eye just waiting to give me a corneal ulcer or worse. Did it dissolve? Do I have some kind of strange eye chemistry that dissolved soft contacts? I’ve lost glasses before, but this is different. This reminds me of being 15 and trying tampons for the first time. I was okay the first few times, then I couldn’t find the string and, after vacillating for a time between panic and resignation I went to my mother for help.
Why don’t contact lenses come with strings?
Oh! Christmas Tree!
We got home from the Potomac Valley Samoyed Club Christmas party just after dark. John had me wait in the car so he could hurry in to turn on the outdoor Christmas lights. Blue on the dogwood trees. Green on the boxwood. Reflected in the stepladder that still stood by the dogwood, they looked very…..festive.
Since we had managed to avoid hearing the final score of the Redskins-Eagles game we settled in to watch it on our DVR but we were interrupted by delivery of our Christmas tree.
When I opened the front door I was confronted by the biggest Christmas tree I had seen this side of the Ellipse. It was over nine feet tall. I know. I measured it. Then I measured the distance floor to ceiling at the highest point in my living room. Ooops.
“John, do we have a saw?”
“Do we have to do that tonight?”
“Yes. It has to drink. And I want the limbs to drop down so I can decorate it tomorrow night.”
I found the saw. Pulled the tree inside. With difficulty. And began to remove a foot from the bottom of the tree.
“Give me the saw.”
“Go watch the Redskins. I can do this”
“It will take you forever. I paused it.”
Aftre much sawing and sweatingbut no swearing the bottom of the tree was separated from the top of the tree but still attached by the netting John handed me the saw and went back to the TV. I sawed off the bottom branches and tossed the hewn trunk and branches out the front door. Then I went to the living room to make room for tree-monster. I tried to do this unobtrusively. John was swearing now, but not at me. The Redskins were trailing 21 to 3 after two interceptions.
After making room for the tree I brought in the tree stand and pulled the tree – again with difficulty – into the living room. Next, we had our annual debate about whether it is easier to attach the stand while the tree was lying down or when the tree is standing up. It is easier when the tree is lying down, but I have to convince him every year. We tightened down the four screws. I braced the base while John righted the tree. It cleared the ceiling with inches to spare. We pushed the tree into the newly opened space and I removed the rest of the netting.
Each time I snipped, the tree opened wider and wider. It encroached on the hallway. Obstructed a third of the 50 inch wide screen TV on which the Redskins were beginning to claw their way back from their 18 point deficit.
“Doesn’t that smell wonderful?” I said from behind the tree, hoping he wouldn’t notice the branches that were now spreading toward the dining room.
“That’s a really big one.”
“You said you wanted a big one.” I responded, employing the best offense is a good defense approach that was now eluding the Redskins.
Meanwhile Arlo and Darcy just looked on in amazement. Too dumbstruck to even deliver the customary anointing of the tree that has become as much a part of our holiday as Aunt Gladys’ fruitcake.
Since we had managed to avoid hearing the final score of the Redskins-Eagles game we settled in to watch it on our DVR but we were interrupted by delivery of our Christmas tree.
When I opened the front door I was confronted by the biggest Christmas tree I had seen this side of the Ellipse. It was over nine feet tall. I know. I measured it. Then I measured the distance floor to ceiling at the highest point in my living room. Ooops.
“John, do we have a saw?”
“Do we have to do that tonight?”
“Yes. It has to drink. And I want the limbs to drop down so I can decorate it tomorrow night.”
I found the saw. Pulled the tree inside. With difficulty. And began to remove a foot from the bottom of the tree.
“Give me the saw.”
“Go watch the Redskins. I can do this”
“It will take you forever. I paused it.”
Aftre much sawing and sweatingbut no swearing the bottom of the tree was separated from the top of the tree but still attached by the netting John handed me the saw and went back to the TV. I sawed off the bottom branches and tossed the hewn trunk and branches out the front door. Then I went to the living room to make room for tree-monster. I tried to do this unobtrusively. John was swearing now, but not at me. The Redskins were trailing 21 to 3 after two interceptions.
After making room for the tree I brought in the tree stand and pulled the tree – again with difficulty – into the living room. Next, we had our annual debate about whether it is easier to attach the stand while the tree was lying down or when the tree is standing up. It is easier when the tree is lying down, but I have to convince him every year. We tightened down the four screws. I braced the base while John righted the tree. It cleared the ceiling with inches to spare. We pushed the tree into the newly opened space and I removed the rest of the netting.
Each time I snipped, the tree opened wider and wider. It encroached on the hallway. Obstructed a third of the 50 inch wide screen TV on which the Redskins were beginning to claw their way back from their 18 point deficit.
“Doesn’t that smell wonderful?” I said from behind the tree, hoping he wouldn’t notice the branches that were now spreading toward the dining room.
“That’s a really big one.”
“You said you wanted a big one.” I responded, employing the best offense is a good defense approach that was now eluding the Redskins.
Meanwhile Arlo and Darcy just looked on in amazement. Too dumbstruck to even deliver the customary anointing of the tree that has become as much a part of our holiday as Aunt Gladys’ fruitcake.
Old enough to give you dreams
Between coughing and squirming to get comfortable in what should be a comfortable bed – my feather bed below me and a down comforter on top of me – I dream.I dream about trying to take a final exam in a class I never attended with a pen that won’t write in a crowded classroom where I can’t find a seat.
Between coughing and squirming to get comfortable in what should be a comfortable bed – my feather bed below me and a down comforter on top of me – I dream. I dream about heavy rain. Probably prompted by the sound of acorns hitting the skylight above my bed. I dream about babies. Not mine. And I awake to find learn I am a great aunt. “Reva had a baby” John calls from the other room. “She named it Raven. Looks like she has a Mohawk.” I sigh. The line goes on. Mama and Daddy had three children. My sister and I had none. My brother had two. One is gay and happy. Reva is the only one scattering seed. All our genes now depending on a little girl with a Mohawk named Raven.
I wonder if Raven dreams or if she is content giving me dreams.
Quiet
Do you ever wake up and not know where you are? This morning I woke up on Mill Creek. It was quiet. In my confused peri-waking moments the quiet confused me. No traffic. No planes. No early morning dog walkers. Just silence. Disoriented by a dream where I had taken Arlo to Europe by mistake - leaving John at home in Arlo's crate. I'd driven up and down the Mediterranean coastline trying to find a hotel that Arlo liked. Not mindful that most hotels - even in Italy - wouldn't be thrilled at having a 60 pound Samoyed as a guest. I opened my eyes and oriented myself to my surroundings. The minute I stirred Darcy began her morning ritual of licking my face. I responded by rubbing the spot where her third eye would be. She responded by doing an expert downward facing dog...the kind only a limber dog can do. Arlo broke the silence with a dog fart. John pretended to be asleep. Or maybe he was asleep. He had stayed up late to watch the meteor shower. I crawled over John, Arlo and Darcy and went to the kitchen. Last night's coffee was still warm thanks to the advances in thermal coffee pots. I emptied the pot and went out to the deck. There was a chill in the air - a harbinger of autumn. The creek was a mirror stretching from here to yonder. A few late-leaving Osprey circled overhead. These would be the youngsters. Their parents have already left for their winter home in the Caribbean leaving their young to follow in a few weeks. The parents will return in the spring and remake their nest on the same roost where they hatched this year's chicks. The eagle has returned. I saw him yesterday afternoon when I kayaked back into the shallow pools at the end of the creek. The bright white of the eagle's head and tail are unmistakable. Since osprey are dominant, eagle only return when the osprey have gone. "Is there any coffee for me?" The first words of the morning. John is awake now. I hand him my cup and go inside to make a fresh pot. A fishing boat makes it's way up the creek toward the bay, disturbing the smooth surface of the water. The day has begun.
Moons
One summer I drive across Texas forever.
Wheels spinning.
Lights flashing.
Cows mooing.
I don't stop. Clouds fall from the sky. Oil wells spill out onto a too brown landscape making it look like a sloppily iced sheet cake.
The kind my mother used to bake.
I drive on.
The highway rises up to meet the cloudless sky. I folllow it.
Better than driving in circles.
The Black Dog
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