Sunday, May 9, 2010

The light is on

"It doesn't matter how long we may have been stuck in a sense of our limitations. If we go into a darkened room and turn on the light, it doesn't matter if the room has been dark for a day, a week, or ten thousand years- we turn on the light and it is illumined. Once we contact our capacity for love and happiness... the light has been turned on." Sharon Salzburg

Hello reader. It's me. So I've been mulling over this blog thing for a year now, trying to decide what subject I would write about. On turning 50? I wrote this:

Today I wore a purple floppy hat, flat antique rose on the brim, gold hair flashing, saw an old me in the mirror. Not me old, the me of a long time ago. That one. Her. I used to really like her.

So here I go, into the 50th year. Here I go. What do I know for sure?

That everything I thought I knew for sure shifts or softens or hardens or gets too ripe. I am getting too ripe. One more day and turned into banana bread for me.

I am morphing, growing, ripening, into this old me, becoming more me. Everything is concentrating, emulsifying, down down down into this delicious coulis of me. I am shrinking, my presence smaller, my powers greater. I am on my way towards stealth. But one day more and then into banana bread for me.

Toast me, and cover me in cream cheese please.

Or I thought I might write about my garden and the magical things that happen there:

There is a crazy hummingbird, a crazy little hummingbird that lives I'm not sure where, but he comes to call on me. He likes my garden, comes to bathe in my fountain, sip from my fuchsias, and flit from bush to flower to tree,

something
like

this.

He calls on me, mostly when I talk to "t" of late. He hovers over me, and often drops in mid-air, greets me face to face.

Hello, I say

breathlessly.

I close my eyes and wait for his kiss, but he is off again. He thinks the garden I made is his.

Faith is the fuchsia I planted knowing he would come.

Faith is when I knocked, and you let me in.

I had this idea that I would call my blog "the sacred ordinary." Maybe I could talk about motherhood, or food, or the Napa Valley. Or my obsession with orchids, making the perfect cup of tea, or my inclinations towards romantic fantasy. The things I know about.

Still thinking about Pride and Prejudice, you know, the remake with Kiera. What a delicious movie. Remember that scene towards the end, the scene in the swamp and the fog and the bog when he walks toward her. His coat is blowing about him, like Superman's cape. Wow. Seeking. Determined.

I always wanted someone to rush for me like that. Unrelenting.

That's the fabulous thing about writing novels. I will gift this to myself. Here you go girl. Thank you girl.

On April 21, 2010 my life changed forever. My ordinary is gone. Sacred to the nth degree.

I was diagnosed with breast cancer.

Sit down friend. I will make you a cup of tea. Come with me, ok?




4 comments:

ann said...

I too shall flit about you, with you, listen to you, be with you. I shall be the fairy friend that will flit and flutter with you while you go through the "not so Ordinary". Life sometimes throws something our way that we never deserve, desire, and even more so hate with every passion in our souls. I hate the word "cancer". Let alone see friends and family go through the god awful sickness of it all. I shall flit and flutter with you my Deb.

Machine said...

Wow.... I got to the end and did not want it to end.... that was some good writing! I just love the way you paint a picture with your words. i want more.... I will follow you on your journey. but of course would you expect anything less??? I love you Aunt Debbie! I love you very very much!

DJ said...

Dear Deb,
Happy Mother's Day! I can't thank you enough for being such a "fantastic" friend to my Kel. She loves you so very much and so do I. Positive thoughts are being sent your way, wrapped in lots of love. I'm with you in spirit and I've asked all the angels I know to surround you and keep you safe. Hugs and Kisses, Donna xoxox

Julie said...

Deb, why in the world are you a server when you should be dazzling the world with your
words. Write a novel, girl. Love you and thanks forever scaring me off mamograms. Crepes? yulie

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