The present moment

A beautiful home with homey warm-colored furniture. Lots of books, a fridge full of food. A cozy peaceful backyard with the view of grass and trees, and the whole nature smiling at the coming of spring--a backyard chosen for a little dog...the little dog who stays over and prefers this place to his own home.

The sound of neighborhood children playing in the afternoon, and even screaming harder for their freedom because it's Friday. I am reborn with their joy with every scream.

A loving father, who buys groceries, cooks the food and cleans the dishes after eating. Even then, he won't rest, he looks for a broken chair to fix, for a bill to pay or for a kind word to say to someone...he never stops. What have I done to deserve him? I must have been good before...at some point, I must have done some good deeds to have him as a father.

A kind-hearted mother who makes me practice infinite patience with her, whose deep blue eyes signify the ocean to me, who wants to be healed, and I have to be patient with myself because I can't do miracles for her---just not yet.

I walk the little dog in the grass area of the backyard, I come in and read a bit. I do the laundry. I search the web. The little dog sleeps on my lap sometimes, at other times he prefers to lay on the carpet where the sun is shining.

I walk the little dog again after he stares at me with big brown loving eyes. This time he just wants to play and he runs away into the branches. I have to be firm with him to make him come back. I come back inside and eat something. I do the dishes. I feed him. I pet him. I read some more. I put the clothes in the dryer.

These days, I just am...

There is whole new world to be created, so much to be produced, so many projects to be done, so many people to see, so many places to go and babies to be born and raised. But I am here, in my homey home, with my loving parents, a little dog and my cozy backyard--I am just here where a writer is being herself: first making love with life then writing about it.

Giving

The rain has inspired me again to move, to give and to write.

I clean out one suitcase full of brand new bed sheets, some of which still have the tag on from when there still was a May Company or Bullocks. Way before Mayce's took all of them over, way before this economic crisis hit us like a tsunami.

He must have bought a brand new sheet every week, he must have been obsessed. I mean we all have our own obsessions, I buy books that I don't read and he bought bed sheets, and towels. They must have somehow made him feel safe in this world.

The flat sheets are a whole other issue. Who uses them besides hotels and their maids who know how to make them so perfectly? I have about 15 flat sheets. Where are the matching fitted sheets? I think he just bought the flat ones...

He was such a strange person, my late grandfather.

Suddenly I get an urge to put an ad on craigslist under free stuff. Some poor person may know how to make good use of them. I put the ad and 7 minutes later Lydia calls and she comes with her husband and her dog, in the pouring rain, to pick them up. She says she sews.

I think to myself: good for Lydia who knows how to sew. I should have learned how to sew. They did have a class in 7th grade and I refused to take it, and then again in senior year they offered some "home economic" class and I chose cooking. I learned some basic cooking skills, which is great now because it helps me when I cook. Maybe that's why I like cooking? because of those early education years?

Never mind. Sheets are gone. I will never again see Lydia in my life but I think my psyche has lightened up, my grandfather is smiling at me from heaven and, yes, we are all connected somehow in this universe. Those who will wear the clothes that Lydia will make, will say a prayer for grandpa silently and subconsciously, not knowing that they even said it, not knowing ever how their clothes came to be but now I know: Maybe he bought flat bed sheets so that one day someone can wear hand-made clothing that their mom, Lydia made.

It's all good, and the rain makes it even better.

Allowing

I am learning to accept my mother as who she is. "Allowing her to be", as he put it.

It is darn hard, I may add. But I can see I have made progress...

Wow.