I have been meaning to write a note here for almost a week now. It is Memorial Day in the states, which might occasion a purposeful message of solemn remembrance to honor those who lost their lives in service. A day for remembering fallen soldiers, visiting cemeteries, offering commemorative words. Mine would be inadequate today, so I refrain.
Also in the states, this is the holiday weekend that traditionally marks the opening of summer––barbecues, beach trips, and quite a few celebrations. My love’s birthday, my daughter’s close-friend’s quinceañera, and my brother’s wedding. In preparation for the wedding, I spent some time extracting stills from a video slideshow of my grandfather, who died of old age over a decade ago. Several of these photos featured him as a smiling young man in his WWII-era Army attire, complete with wool coat. The photos I had were all black and white. But for him, those moments happened in color.
The federal holiday means schools, government offices, and many other locations are closed today, so for me it’s the first moment I’ve had in almost a week to catch my thoughts in any meaningful way. It’s a chance to nurse a cold in bed instead of rushing to work jacked up on caffeine and Sudafed. And, now that the festivities are behind us, to try to remember what was happening on other planes.
I opened Nelle Morton’s book of essays to a dog-eared page from “A Word We Cannot Yet Speak” to find this line: As fire is known in the burning, not in the ashes, sight is known in the seeing, not in the eyes. This feels relevant in ways I am trying to access through my stuffy head. The essay is about bodily understanding, the kind often maligned for being associated with women and other creatures outside the traditional loci of Western power systems.
When I opened my notes this morning, I had a sense of wanting to have something to say, but feeling only a dull, achy buzz. Buzz is the name of our cat who has been suffering an ailment that has been mysterious and worrisome in recent days on top of everything else. This morning’s online vet visit offers hope, which is much better than enhanced concern and nothing.
And yet. I have no meaningful note. All pain, all ache. As it was in the days leading up to the weekend’s events, in no particular way other than how it is sometimes, except that it was time to focus on joy and gratitude for beloveds and friends, for family and love, enthusiasm for the occasion to celebrate together, laughing and sweating and spinning on the dance floor, all I love you! and Don’t go! and You have to stay! until eventual hard-crashing, headache-nursing, morning-after commentary, limpid with excess, a time to acknowledge the sore throat and sneezes are not, as I was claiming earlier, from laughing so hard while responding to insistent protests of, Stay, stay! Don’t you dare leave!
Now it’s quiet. I try to collect things. I make a list. Back to work tomorrow. Try to remember. I follow the cat with a warm washcloth, apologizing between bouts of treatment. What was I doing before? With such urgency? So close to something I was meaning to carry through. I was thinking, just a little longer, stay, before it went.
The post on making appeared first on Breadcrumbs.
