Butterflies, Slugs & Perceptions

Any caterpillar who tried to "know himself" would never become a butterfly. ~André Gide

"I'm a boot-ee-full butterfly" ~ Toy Story

I saw another wooly Slug last week-end and when I pointed him out to everyone, they all wanted to kill him. I scooped him out of harms way using a Magnolia leaf. Yes, they will sting the molasses out of you, but everything...even those things in life that are painful or not so pretty, has it's place

As she runs faster and faster...

I have lived in this house longer than I have ever lived anywhere...nine and a half years.
106 years old now, it has seen a lot of stuff come and go...including people.
One day I, too, will go.
Six months ago, back in February, something very profound and personal happened which words could never really explain. In a moment or maybe it was in a hour, I don't know but...
I realized that all that really matters in the end is LoVe...
All-la-la-la-levels of it...
a love of food and a love of life, a love of laughter and a love of learning, a love of peace and a love of passion, a love of the water and the wind, a love of strangers and a love of ourselves, a love of a lifetime and a lifetime of love...
And all this stuff that for nearly 10 years now has been dog-piling in my house really doesn't matter.
If it's not useful or enjoyable, it's gotta go and even if it is useful and enjoyable...it still can go. It's just too much stuff. (Do any of you need anything?)
So ... rummaging through some old 'keepsakes' I found yet another old journal with all but two of the pages blank.
The first page dates the journal back by about 15 years.
The second page has a poem I wrote.
I'll post the poem & chunk the book, knowing the moment that I hit 'publish' the usefulness of it has been completed.
Maybe someone out there will enjoy or find it useful...
Maybe someone will just love it...
Maybe not, but the time has come

Actually, I have no idea what they really think, but their love is undeniable...
and I know that they know that I absolutely love them, as well.

She's an owner of a small boutique here in town and I was her patron... looking for a small special something, maybe a ring, for a dear girlfriend.
The shop keeper had large cat-like eyes that danced with laughter but sat with a thatched roof of deeply rooted frown lines.
I'm not really sure how it all happened, but one thing led to another & before I knew it, I knew the shop owner's story of life, love & loss...
We all have our stories, some more tragic than others. Although I would never say this to her because I know it is all relative, her's was none too unusual but something about it captivated me just the same ...
Husband of seventeen years fooling around with the receptionist ...
Busted by a paper trail of receipts to florists and day-spas, Japanese restaurants and Victoria Secrets.
I smiled & nodded, remembering how I found paper trails myself many moons ago.
She packed all of his stuff, tossed it in the yard, hired a pitbull of an attorney, took him to the cleaners and opened her little boutique.
I laughed...'Ok. Good for you! You're happy now, right?'
Ut-Oh.
I watched her furrows deepen.
She told me about her best friend. Her girlfriend since high school. And their final falling out...when she 'wiped her hands clean' of her.
Apparently this girlfriend always had a hard time recalling birthdays & even if she did, she wasn't big on making a to-do over them.
Post-divorce, this proved to be fatal to their friendship.
The shopkeeper was so very devastated by her girlfriends lack of thoughtfulness that she completely wrote her off.
When the friend called the Saturday after her birthday to wish her a happy day, she hung up on her...and hadn't accepted her calls since.
Doing the math, I figured at 42 this woman had been a dear friend for 25 or more years.
My jaw hit the floor.
One of my own best friends has been of my world for about this long and she too, imho, is sensitive about birthdays and such... but I cannot imagine her ever completely wiping her hands clean of me should I forget to acknowledge her birthday on the precise day.
She's my friend...one of my best friends. She knows me.
She knows I am not good with keeping up with the time of the day, the date of the month & the day of the week. She knows that I love & adore her everyday...even if we don't speak everyday
I couldn't help but share my take on life, love & friendship with the shopkeeper.
That was over a year ago.
Anytime, I go into her shop, she smiles big & hugs me and I usually leave with some little gift.

But I saw her out the other night, in faxt, the same day I last visited her shop... out of her element, out of her shop.
She was walking into a store as I was walking out and I saw her before she saw me.
I smiled big & when she matched eyes with me... her furrow didn't break.
She looked right at me...at me smiling, and kept on frowning and then looked through me.
It was obvious she didn't recognize me outside of her shop, which is ok.

What struck me as tragically sad was that she wasn't open, much less reciprocating, to my smile and I knew...
it wasn't just me, it was everyone...anyone.

And my heart broke for her.
I knew at that moment that when she had thrown her husbands clothes in the yard, she kept all the negative stuff inside and when she had wiped her hands clean of her friend, she had closed such an important door to life...

May we all be open to smiling..

Save It For Another Day

Kimbies, Curt and I made the walk together.
I was filled with absolute dread.
The day was young and our shadows were long, providing some distractive relief. I looked like a big girl...in my shadows.
My hair was pulled up in an "I dream of Jeanie" pony-tail. The way it swished left and right, through the air, kissing each shoulder with every step I took made me feel... a little magical.
At the curb of our destination, Kimbies grabbed my hand.
I flung her away.
'You have to hold my hand.'
'No.'
'Look at how many kids are in there. I told Mom I would get you safely to your first day of school. I don't want to lose you...so take my hand.'
p a u s e
'...now'
'I don't wanna go.'
'You're going.'
Kimbies grasped my unwilling little hand and dragged me through the gate.
The children inside this gate looked like barbarians...running, yelling, kicking sand, crying. So many kids...none of them buddied up. So many kids...all together, yet all alone.
Kimbies delivered me to a frantic looking woman holding a clipboard.
I watched Kimbies turn and walk towards Curty Boy... who stood just outside the gate.
His eyes like saucers, fore-finger hooked over nose, sucking on his thumb.
I waved to him. He lifted his free hand and gave me a small wave back and then they disappeared.
The lady with the clipboard contended with the unending line of kids.
The kids ran. They screamed. They kicked.
I watched.
'What are you doing?' she asked me.
'I don't know. What am I supposed to do?'
'Go play on the monkey bars or something'
I wandered over to the monkey bars. I climbed the rungs up and looked to the other side & saw a little girl, whom I thought was foaming at the mouth, frantically climb the other side. I waited until she got to the top before I swung out. She got a crazy, Dean Koontz-Highway smile about her face. I trellised my way across & the, her she came.
Normally when I had crossed a kid on the monkey bars, we squeezed right past one another. Not this time.
Her eyes locked with mine.
Her curly head of hair looked like a sprawling clump of tangled seaweed & fishing net, ready to take me in.
The foam at her mouth looked as if she would like to chew on my bones.
And her legs, propelled by her body weight, swung fervently.
I scurried my pads to one side of the bars...
She kicked, growled, swung & snarled her jagged little face at mine.
'What are you doing?'
Spiddle was flying through the air...like her hair and her feet...but no real words.
I wasn't scared...I was shocked.
I could have kicked back.
I could have yelled.
Instead I waited...which seemed to do nothing but further entice this rabid kid.
Sometimes we pick our battles and sometimes they pick us.
Sometimes we just gotta let go.
So I simply let go of those bars.
Feet safely in the sand I looked up & could see her flailing in joy that she had won her little war.
I surveyed my surrounding.
A war zone...an unkempt zoo...a keeping ground for rabid beasts.
I walked out the same way I walked in, less Kimbies hand.
On the walk home, I felt my hair sashaying across my shoulders & began to feel the magic again.
Standing at the stop light, waiting for the light change, I noticed my shadow had grown shorter.
I didn't go home...nope, now on this first day of education.
Instead I went to the Big Old Oak Tree.
I climbed up into it and made my way to the branch that laid a canapy over our brick road...
I laid there all day, soaking up my lessons of the day...
Sometimes we pick our battles & sometimes they pick us.

Do Whatever It Is You Want

With shiny, thin, red lips rumpled over her small, yellowed teeth she asked 'Can you help me?'
'Of course, sweetheart, what do you need?'
'Heh-heh-heh. Well, i don't really need anything. I'm too old for that. When I was young & had needs I put them on the backburner to take care of those around, especially that son-of-a-bitch. Ah, that's alright, I didn't really think anything I wanted was ever a need anyway.'
'Hahaha, okay honey, then what do you want?'
'I want you to help me get that rug. I always wanted a rug & that son-of-a-bitch never wanted one, never would let me have one...said they were dirt traps.'
'Okay, well, I will be more than happy to get it for you.'

I followed her, with her hunched back & darting, dancing blue eyes over to the mountain of rugs. She had picked out a 8 x 10 persian wool rug. It was big, thick & tightly tufted...very plush. I had her help guide it, as we rolled it down from the mountain of rolled textiles & onto my right shoulder & then told her to steer clear. It weighed a ton. As I scaffolded my way through the store with it, I asked if she had someone at home who could offload it for her.
'Yeah, that son-of-a-bitch's bastard son. He's forty...he can do it...if he's not too doped up.'

En route to her car & back she told me about the 'son-of-a-bitch.' He was her spouse for almost seventy years. They had four children. When their children were all but grown, he had a child with another woman. As this childs' mother was in & out of the hospital for drug & alcohol use, the child was in & out of their home.

Her husband was verbally and physically abusive to her until he became too old & too tired to beat her down anymore. His death came slowly & he required much care in his dying years & he was too stubborn and demanding to allow anyone to care for him but his wife.

'Well, he loved you dearly, I'm sure, he just didn't express it in a healthy manner.'

'I thought it was love. For nearly seventy years, I thought it was love. It wasn't honey, he just used me. I was his care-giver, the mother to his children, his maid & servant. I now know that man didn't know the meaning of love.'

'Well, he defined it differently for sure. At least he provided well for you & the children, right?'

'Well, the house has been paid off for over thirty years now. He changed jobs, like I changed the linens. Outside of the house, I was hung out to dry just like those linens & I almost lost the house too '

'Oh my'

'Yeah, what savings we had, he spent. Then he went & co-signed on credit cards & car loans for that bastard son. By the time he died, that boy had over 80 grand in debt with my husbands name attached to it all & that boy, well he just quit paying. Them collectors came like bees on honey when that son-of-a-bitch husband of mine died. I had to hire me an attorney just to keep the house & that cost me thousands of dollars. I thought I was gonna be homeless. I had to start working at the daycare. I still do & that's why I can afford to get me this here rug. I work 5 hours a day, five days a week.'

'Well, I hope you enjoy this rug plenty then. You have worked hard for it'

'Oh I will. I lived my whole life with dirt. Anytime I tried to sweep it up, it just gets in my face & all over everything. I think that with this here rug, at least the dirt can get buried. That son-of-a-bitch never wanted me to have no rug. He was nothing but a liar, a cheat & a thief. If I'd known 50 years ago what I know today, I woulda got me a job at the daycare back then & a rug too.'

Her eyes drifted over the vehicle, through our small lot & to somewhere beyond. 'I woulda left him, but I didn't know....I just didn't know. I just didn't know any better. You married, honey?'

'No Ma'am.' 'You would be proud of me, I just divorced a liar, a cheat, a thief.'

I know there are multiple sides to every story.
This woman's resentment was undeniable. Regardless of where the blame belongs or where it falls, the bottom line is that she was eaten up with anger & resentment. As much as she resents her husbands infidelity, instability & abusiveness... it was apparent to me that she, in fact, resented herself & her own choices. I remember reading once somewhere that what makes old, crotchety people act with anger is reflection upon a life lived without going for what they want. In my opinion, this woman knew 50 years ago, maybe nearly 70 years ago, that she wanted out... that she wanted something more or at least, something different and she never acted on those wants.

All this being said...if there is something you want in life...go for it.
'I hope you enjoy this life plenty. You have worked hard for it.'