Stop playing with the banana tiles and update mindbodymama blog. I have exhausted everything on my Kindle. There are people out here waiting patiently for your next blog.Remember the space, accessible only in imagination, where something more perfect will happen when the time is right? I’ve been spending time there of late. No, not actually: the kitchen man is not scheduled to return until summer. Metaphorically. It’s quiet there, and the light is diffuse as the mid-day sun through the curtain in my clean, white shower.
It’s calm there. No one is ranting about the queers and the immigrants and the bullying and the violence. Least of all me.
There is a psycho-budo principle in Shuri Ryu karate: “master speech and silence.” There is a Taoist principle about waiting for right action. There is a Christian principle about making space for God in one’s heart (although this is a principle I know primarily through the cynicism of Greg Brown.)
That's where I am right now, in a glorious white space. Waiting. Being. Quietly.
But I didn’t mean to leave you in the lurch, gentle reader. If we rewind to the week I first dropped out of sight—Thanksgiving weekend to be exact, during which Sweetiebabyhoneylicious and I were eating Ecuadorian food, watching Hulu and going to the movies—I meant to leave you with a retread. It’s no less true this year than last, and—as Small would say—it will "hold you up" until I get myself back together.
Mind Body Mama: Bad News, Bad News, Come to Me Where I Sleep
When my mother's doorbell rang at 9:00 am the day after Thanksgiving my first thought was that it would be a friend of Bobbi's come ‘round to meet Her Majesty, my Small. Small is my mother’s first born and farthest flung grandchild and her legend is large around Bobbi and Grampy-land.
I wasn’t particularly in the mood to entertain in my pajamas over my post-holiday coffee so I grabbed up a change of clothes and was bolting for the bathroom when my mom opened the door and I heard an unfamiliar man’s voice say, “Do you have a Sweetiebabyhoneylicious here?”
My first thought was, “Why is someone sending my Sweetie flowers?” My second thought, tumbling over the first, was, “She’s having an affair! And she’s having an affair with a stupid girl—stupid enough to send flowers to her in-laws house!”
Then I heard him say, “Apparently your number is unlisted. Her brother has been trying to reach her.”
And Bobbi said, in a small voice, “Thank you, Officer.”
Read the rest of the essay here, and hear the soundtrack too.
*(OK, so what if it was my dad? Are you trying to make something of it?)