All my clothes have memories. In the spirit of embracing recent life changing events, I needed something safe, void of memory, some gorgeous textiles to drape over my tearful body and fill with new memories, new hopes, new faith. And look gorgeous at the same time.
Tonight A. {formerly Sir Harri} said:
"You have looked extra beautiful lately." And I said, "Yeah, I know. I did it on purpose, mostly to keep myself together. But also to see if you would notice." He did.
Those are my yellow tights. They are very, very yellow. Mustard is definitely not my color. But I love them anyway.
Today at the zoo a boy said, "Mom, why does that lady have yellow legs?" I didn't hear what his mother said back, but I imagined it was something like, "Because, honey, some people think they look good in silly things like that." (She was wearing an oversize t-shirt and a visor.) Don't get me wrong. There is nothing wrong with oversize t-shirts or visors, (or is there?) but I bet if she put on a pair of yellow tights, she would feel like a million bucks. Maybe they are just a little silly, and maybe I do look like big bird, but I know I did make them look good. Damn good. Mmmm-hmmm.
This is my kitchen floor. It is a big part of my life. I thought you should all become acquainted with my rusty looking kitchen floor. I mop it at least ten times a day, to keep it pristine. I hate the feeling of wee gritties under my feet as I walk across floors: it's one of those few cleanliness things that I just cannot bear. If I have a clean kitchen floor, life is easier. Pain is less daunting. So if you ever come and visit, you can easily remove your sox and shoes and prance beautifully, sans nitty gritties or dried-up- day-old-pasta, across my kitchen floor.
I first learned that I hated dirt on kitchen floors when I was about 14 and was visiting my sister Catherine in Palo Alto. {I have since spent at least a few hundred glorious hours in my adult life under her tender loving care whilst visiting her home. But that deserves another post entirely.} Her husband, Andy, was making rice in the kitchen. He is very neat, and never would drop rice on the floor. Ever. But I think this time he had dropped a few grains. {It was probably the last time he ever did.} And Cath bent over and wiped them up. {Today, about eleven years later, she wouldn't do this either. She is much too wise to worry about just a few grains of rice.} And I remember thinking, "Yes, I am so glad she wiped that up because it would have really bothered me to walk over that spilled rice." And so my love of clean, crumb-less kitchen floors was born.
This is my green hand. (See all the wrinkles? That is me. I love the creases in my hands. And how funny that no one condems the wrinkles on our hands.) Two nights ago, in an attempt to reawaken myself to the fulfillment of creating, I recovered a failed canvas. I wanted to make a goldfish painting, similar to this one, to add to the collection I made for Samuel's room. I squirted blue, white, green, purple, red, gray paint and swiped it around with my brush, then my fingers, then I used the brush on my whole arm. I covered my fingernails, the scar I made on my index finger when I was slicing that bagel ten years ago. I laughed like the Wicked Witch of the West. Because sometimes you have to go just a little crazy to get a little sunshine.
SO. What is all this gibberish about floors, rice, freaky tights and green paint? It is this, my friends: I know I will be alright. Today was a good day. Yesterday, not so much. But today had some rather significant rays of sunshine. (And I don't just mean the very cheerful brightness of my very yellow tights.) I say to those in crisis, to those just trying to make it through today (because that is indeed a grand accomplishment, no matter what your circumstance):
Find your yellow tights. Wear them with gusto, and pride. They will bring you courage. Keep your floors clean. Wipe them just a little every day; that will keep the mess at bay; you will not get overwhelmed. And, at the end of the day, (if you are not too tired), make a place to be yourself. Read, sing, find silence, pray, cook, bathe, sleep, talk. Laugh like your favorite witch. Or go ahead and paint your arm green. It might be just the thing. To bring you sunshine, sanity, or solace. Because joy is our job.
I love you all, forever. And thank you for loving me back.
It's called "Vintage Charm" by Benjamin Moore. Unfortunately, I lack the fantastic epoxy drip painting to give it just a bit of edgi-ness. Though I have had more than one dream (literally, like, when I was sleeping) over the last six months as to how I could exactly re-create this in acrylics. Anyway, about my wall. I haven't decided if I LOVE it yet. Daylight will tell me that. I do have faith, though. (UPDATE: Yet another miracle of my faith this week:::
