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Certainly

I’ve never been so unsure
Of being sure
about anything in my life.

On the one hand, my love for you is
Fierce, undeterred, immovable,
And yet it is also fluid and wavelike
as a particle in quantum mechanics.
It is overwhelming, all encompassing,
Consuming.
However, it is not unwavering.

As much as I wish to be solid as a rock,
I am but the grains of sand,
Shifting and moving to mold to pressure.

I feel my spirit drawn to stability,
To communication, digitally,
Where the telepathy leaves off.
To pet names,
to holding hands in the grocery store
To a lover’s touch,
To knowing my boundaries.

I am an orchid,
Who needs water,
And loving words,
And light to thrive.

Inasmuch as I know
Our fates are intertwined,
I also know Mars and Venus
Could never rule the cosmos.
You would have to lose
the very thing that makes us fit.

I am here but a short while,
I can love you innately
and still desire comfort.
Of this I am both sure and unsure.

Une tarte aux abricots change ma vie.

The kitchen was scorching with the late July air. Dinners in the south of France consisted of summer salads like couscous, tuna, tomatoes, and corn. Anything to keep from turning on the oven. An exception was made for Uncle Robert’s birthday–he was coming over to celebrate and mama Liliane had made a special dessert for the occasion.

“Qu’est-ce que c’est?” I asked, inquiring about the delicacy on the counter in front of me.
“Une tarte aux abricots,” Liliane responded. “Tu aimes les abricots?”

I had never had an apricot—fresh, baked, dried or otherwise, so I honestly couldn’t tell her whether I liked them or not. Fruit at my house growing up was your run of the mill apples, bananas, and oranges, with the occasional peach thrown in. That summer in France I was introduced to cerises (cherries—with the pits in them), prunes (plums, not prunes as we know them), and now les abricots.

Liliane took one of the remaining apricots that she hadn’t used out of the bowl and split it neatly down the middle with her hands. She handed it to me and told me to try it. I took it willingly and put the fruit to my mouth, feeling its downy skin upon my lips. Kind of like a peach, but different. I sunk my teeth into the flesh and was immediately rewarded with the sweet, slightly acidic taste that only a fresh, ripe apricot has, a taste that made the roof of my mouth tingle and made my tongue keep running across my palate as my mouth tried to figure out what exactly I was experiencing. Since that moment, I have been a fan.

Even today, when May rolls around and the first crops start appearing in stores, I seek out the freshest apricots. Less messy than a peach, softer than a plum, the unique taste of a fresh apricot immediately transports me back to the summers I spent in France in high school. We are an ocean apart and I haven’t talked to Liliane in 20+ years, but I learned more than to speak French those summers ago. I was introduced to a whole new world of gustatory delights that I still appreciate today.

Alan Alda and the Meaning of Life

So I listened to Alan Alda’s podcast today with renowned physicist Brian Greene and he threw me into a sort of existential crisis. Greene projects that we are all sacs of particles who, because math and science rule, have no free will—at least at the molecular level. His reasoning was sound but falls apart at the macroscopic level, where he concedes free will might play a role. He continues by saying free will is possible in our search for meaning to life, which, he conjectures, is not universal. There is no 42. Love does not rule all. Meaning in life is a purely individual pursuit and it is up to us to stop searching “out there” and look within for meaning.

Well fuck, I thought to myself. At first blush on the inside I’m nothing more than a foulmouthed, dumpy clutterbug who likes cupcakes just a bit too much for society’s taste. Somehow I manage to reinvent myself with self-help books and motivational apps every five years, while still staying. Exactly. The. Same. It’s frustrating because I fall into the “someday” trap when thinking about goals and aspirations. I’ll finish my novel…someday. I’ll change out my shutters (and clean my house and finish my laundry and…)…someday. I’ll lose fifty pounds…someday. I’ll pay off my debt…you guessed it…someday.

All this introspection has me thinking about whether the outside matches the inside. And if so, is the meaning of my life as fucked up and disorganized as one would surmise when glancing at the “math” of my life. I would like to propose that it’s the “somedays” that actually refocus me onto the “todays” that define my life. Today I was a rock for my struggling daughter. Today I helped a physicist better communicate their research. Today I mopped up water in my basement from the torrential downpour that hit last night. These “todays” mean I am living in the present and am there for those who need me. Some may see it as just getting by, but being present in the here and now is the closest I can get to creating permanence in this lifetime. And I wonder if perhaps the true meaning of my life is all these todays put together so I can look back on a life well lived…someday.

Scene #23 from quarantine

I put the car in park, turn the engine off, and turn to face my oldest daughter, the last strains of Declan McKenna fading.
“But no one I know has Corona, I don’t understand why we can’t hang out at the park…”
“Because the governor has called for a stay at home order and that’s not practicing social distancing.”
“It’s just not fair.”

Silent tears burn her cheeks. It’s hard being a cooped up teen when springtime beckons. She heaves a heavy sigh and slams the car door shut, stomping off to the house. I take a sip of my sweet tea and open the door to join her.

She is in her room. Dinner is made in silence as children are dispersed. I cut up the tomatoes, making sure to cut up a few extra for my angsty teen, wondering whether it’s all for naught if dinner is to be shunned to underscore her previous point.

“Doodle, monkeys, dinner…” I call, hoping mealtime will calm the torrent of emotions this quarantine has caused.

The kitchen is filled with hungry kids as everyone dresses their tacos. She stands next to me, carefully adding tomatoes to the filled shells and as she turns to leave, she quietly says, “Thank you for dinner, Mommy.”

The ice is broken and I soon hear her laughing and facetiming on her phone, the only way she can connect these days. Adolescence in the new normal is not for the fainthearted.

Seven Sentences for Someday: The New Decade Edition

1. We had a bit of an inauspicious start to the new year. At exactly 11:58 Ez sat on the remote, exing us out of our Hulu which we were using to watch Steve Harvey bring in the new year. By the time I got it started again, the ball had dropped and they were singing  New York, New York. Tears ensued and even though we rewatched it, it wasn’t the same.
2.  2019 was the first year in as long as I can remember that I didn’t have pork, black eyed peas, and greens on New Years. I made $18k less, had a number of personal setbacks, and paused a five year relationship with someone I love. I’m going back to basics this year and have already eaten my peas, pork, and greens.
3.  I have the next 4 days completely free. After catching up on sleep, I am going to work on cleaning this house!

4. Once the Super Bowl is over I’m ditching live tv til next September. I doubt I’ll miss much.
5. The Mayor gave me the sweetest, most thoughtful Christmas presents ever. He continually amazes me with his ability to know just what I need.
6. I’m not making any hard and fast resolutions this year.  My sticktoitness is at an all time low.
7. I just resolve to be kind.

I love you all, some more than others.

I entered a writing contest through NYCMidnight and was tasked with writing a story under 250 words with the following parameters:

Genre: Fantasy/Fairytale

Action: Attending a funeral

Word: Unknown

The following is what I came up with. I give you Death of the Commandant

The best part of a superhero funeral was not the food, not the wardrobe choices, for those paying their respects came in uniform. No, it was the gossip. 

“I heard it was heartbreak that ultimately did him in…” Lady LaCroix whispered to Sir Steel, who shrugged his shoulders while stuffing a crab puff into his mouth.

“Have you seen Diamond Doll since the news?” Dr. Wonder asked Mr. Huge, who shook his head in the negative.

The official report from the coroner stated the cause of death was unknown, but the Positivity Posse knew otherwise. No force could take down someone like the Commandant unless it was tapped into dark energy–and Captain Tachyon, their evasive, most disruptive foe to date, seemed to have dark energy in excess.

“We need a plan,” said Ms. Speedshot.

Suddenly the door to the Leviticus Lair burst open, and there in a sea of both fire and ice stood Diamond Doll. “It was you, you bougie bitch!” Diamond Doll said, pointing in the direction of Lady LaCroix. “You tricked the Commandant into sleeping with you so that Captain Tachyon could attack when he was most vulnerable. You are a disgrace to the Posse.”

The collective gasp when Sir Steel immediately turned Lady LaCroix to metal without a trial was interrupted by a giant “hoo-rah!” from Major USA. The superheroes shuffled metal Lady Lacroix off to recycling and went about their mourning, wondering where Captain Tachyon would strike next.

 

Seven Sentences for Someday: The Hump Day Edition

  1.  I think I have failed at my SSFS in the past because Sundays are crazy hectic at my house. I’m either frantically getting ready for the kids to go back to Will’s or I’m frantically getting ready for the kids to come home.
  2. I’ve remedied this by retitling it Seven Sentences for Someday. That way I can write any day of the week without guilt.
  3. I can read a 150 page physics article in a little over a full work day, but it has taken me 6 weeks to read 66 pages of my current book, Furiously Happy, by Jenny Lawson. The book is wildly entertaining, I am just all read out by the time evening hits that my brain can’t handle any more words. I’m hoping to finish it when we go to the beach in 13 days.
  4. Not that I’m counting, but we go to the beach in less than two weeks, with a stop through Atlanta to see family on our way down. The kids each have a boogie board and I have 4 bottles of sunscreen just for the trip.
  5. We have to miss Cincinnati Pride for our trip, something Rhett has been quite vocal about her disappointment.
  6. Ez has been gone this week to Girl Scout Camp. I miss my little snuggle buddy, but it has been extremely quiet without her and Rhett going at it like cats and dogs!!
  7. It’s been almost four months since The Mayor and I broke up and I still tear up when I think about it. I consider him one of my best friends, so I look forward to the day when those tears will be replaced by only smiles and no quivering chin. I know….someday.

I love you all, some more than others.

A resounding YAWP!

The Universe tells me to write and yet I have no idea what to write about. I am a creative wasteland. Even in the Universe, the same storylines are repeated over and over. I take a deep meditative breath and my virtual reality goggles come on as I launch into the multiverse. Where will it take me today? A world leaders’ summit? At the table of the gods on Mt. Olympus? Traveling through space and time of the vast multiverse? Or simply fallible Destiny, destined to rehash all of her worst mistakes? I feel there is more to me than just my mistakes, I have a track record of good deeds to prove it.

I glance at the pink sticky note that screams, “DO!” at me in an attempt to inspire and motivate, and I find myself wondering in the midst of my meditative state, how can I effect change? How can I “Do” as my sticky note commands? My thoughts start tumbling and I am whisked away to a make believe place that as a mother I know well. It’s a place of made-up whimsical characters and words to describe them, I see that sweet gray elephant with the ball of fluff in his snout and I am suddenly reminded of that lesson that Horton taught me so many years ago. Be a voice. Dr. Seuss’s Who’s were on the brink of destruction and all hope seemed to have been lost as the people in the most peril could not be heard.  Then at the last minute, the one little boy who was scrolling facebook and listening to Spotify finally chimes in with a great big YAWP and the community is saved.

At a time when lives are in danger just because you have the “wrong” skin color; where rights are being stripped because you have the “wrong” parts; where children have lockdown drills; where two dozen vets commit suicide each day, we are a community in peril. And there are voices out there who are speaking up for the disenfranchised, but we aren’t loud enough yet. We need more people speaking up, especially as we go into the 2020 election year. I know I have a small but loyal following, and my voice is wee compared to those on the national stage. But this is me, Just Destiny, hoping to effect change by chiming in with a resounding YAWP!