I would like to take a quick second to thank all of you that have been contacting me; the emails, letters, cards and facebook stuff. Your overwhelming support and concern has touched me on a level that now has me feeling a little ashamed for being so glum. How can anyone be so down with all this love and support? Well, sadly life does throw some wild crap your way and this one has been of those times for me. I felt bad about dumping it all here, or the aftermath of it anyway but I have always been honest in this space. Come here to share my loves, lusts, wants, my life and real life, well it isn’t always easy and it helps me to say these things out loud. That and I can’t help but think about the others that find themselves in these helpless and painful moments in life, those times when you are sure that no one can possibly understand….wanted to nakedly assure them, I do, we all do….I just so happen to be the queen of never-keeping-stuff-to-myself and so I share, sometimes at the detriment of my readership. Oh my gawsh, I just said, “My readership”…sheesh. Full of myself much?! Could I feel like more of a dick?
I’ve been vague in my posts and I will continue to be that way. My life I will share and give but not everyone else’s and when it comes to broken hearts, there will almost always be more than one involved. Old ghosts, humiliation, confusion and the loss of hope, life and love have been weighing heavy on me and sadly, for those of you that bother to read my trivial crap, you too have had to endure it on some level. I’m sorry for that. Truly. Things are beginning to settle, slow down enough for me to catch my breath and seeing that I am sick to death of feeling so goddamn depleted, well I’m getting my RAWR back….
I woke Sunday morning feeling a little fuzzy from my night of over indulgence. Not hungover per se, but not so fresh if you know what I’m saying. Made my sluggish shuffle to the coffeepot annoyed as shit that I was up before the set brewing time and wondering how I managed to get both the top and bottoms of my jammies on backwards. Hit the “go” button and grumpily made my way to my true lover, my laptop. Opened my email only to be reminded that whatever I had been trying to kill with booze the night before wasn’t fixed. Felt that empty sink in the pit of my angrily hollow tummy. Yup, things were just how I left them….crud. Slouched back on the couch in what has to be one of the most unflattering poses I have ever put myself in, any fuzzy headed notions I had about feeling better were quickly squished by looking down at the tag of my backward jammie bottoms resting upon the tummy that could use a few more days, okay weeks, sans filler….and looking at my nearly forty year old breasts as they tried to slumber beneath my freaking armpits. Oh goddamn it. This clearly wasn’t helping….
I tried to gather my boobs first and let me tell you, trying to “arrange” a pair of forty year old double d’s, real ones….well it’s akin to trying to herd pudding, handfuls of goo that don’t want to listen. Sigh. Heard the coffee grumbling, louder than I was if you can believe that crap and made my way to the restroom to give the jammies a spin before opening the windows and heading into the kitchen for that coffee. Settled back into my perch, this time my back straight and arms tucked in trying to contain the…puddings, one more glance at the heart-sinkingly empty email box before reaching for the remote.
My thumb just a quarter of a second from hitting the next “go” button and I heard a high pitched squeal. Turned my head, peered out the window, no wounded cat or bird flapping about in front of my window, went back to mush my mind with television and again, right before hitting the button I heard another squeal, this time followed by gibberish and then, “I found the most!”….the wee’s next door discovering all the eggs, candy and gifts left by the Easter Bunny. I didn’t need to see them, hearing the astoundingly loud voices; from those tiny people….their sheer joy and excitement, uncontrollable energy, well it made my heart swell. Dropped the remote, cupped my hands around my warm coffee cup, took in deep sniffs of the magic elixir, remembered how much fun I had hiding eggs for Jeremy, the intensity with which that little bugger would hunt them down, the moment when the money filled eggs replaced the dyed “dropped by the bunny” ones. Thinking of him alone this Easter but alone writing the last of his fifteen page papers before graduating. Some sadness but mostly joy, amazement and pride. Better…getting better.
Lounged around the rest of the morning, finding bits of understanding and wisdom in rhythm and lyrics, the crooned and lilted voices mirroring many of the things I’ve been feeling…not alone indeed. Each beautifully strung together line landing upon my exposed heart, “Does anyone know how to hold my heart cuzz I don’t want to let go, let go, let go”…. “I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain”….. “She gives me love, love, love, crazy love”…. “you and I together we could anything, anything” little bandages of comprehension, voices so sympathetic and powerfully resounding that aside from wondering when the hell Dave Matthews (Google alert goddamn it!) is going to finally realize that we are madly in love, made me remember that nothing I’m feeling right now has not been felt by hundreds of thousands before me and if the worst I have to endure is waiting for the other side of someday, well than I am actually better off than many. Better…getting better.
Readied myself for dinner at the in-laws, holiday meals always remind me of my childhood; the things my mother cooked, the smells, the perfect combination of scalloped potatoes, ham and peas balanced on my fork , the squish of rubbery cream-o-mushroom soup mushrooms between my teeth. In my better but still pouty state I thought of nothing on the drive over but the fact that this was to be one more family holiday, without any real part of me and my family there. Lamb instead of ham, no cream-o-soup potatoes, no Dugans aside from me. Tossed a grin on my grill and my loaded wine bag over my shoulder before walking through the laundry room which leads into the kitchen.
The house was still, no television, no, “There they are” voices coming from the living room, just a starkly silent kitchen full of a aroma that made me feel like I was eight years old, legs crossed in one of the kitchen chairs watching my mother set the table….roast pork. The subtle but knee weakening smell of roast pork stopped me in my tracks and much like the succulent fat on that roast, I was melting. One of my mother’s most beloved dishes, one that she did better than anyone, perfectly tender, subtly seasoned, thick slab of mahogany skin that she would thump with a serving fork to show me just how “almost ready” dinner was.
I was speechless, just stood there, eyes closed, taking in as much of this familial aroma as I could. Opened my eyes when I heard, “Oh hi you two. I thought you were dad” my mother in-law. When her very animated face came into focus I almost lost it. For seventeen years this woman has been a mother to me, she is my family and here I was in an aromatic bringing of both worlds together in a way that made sense to me, one from the oven and a woman that made it for me. Thank gawd neither of us are huggers, would have grabbed her little frame right up…you know, if I were so inclined and probably would have been sobbing.
“So let’s get to that Champagne!!” she bellowed. She does that, used to scare the shit out of me coming from the soft spoken home that I did. Her big New England voice, matter of fact manner of speech, exaggerated gestures and stealthy prison reach for any bit of food or bottle she has her eye on. What was once fear was long ago replaced with a certain admiration for her spunky nature and willingness to pop off to anyone, dig that about her and in that kitchen, at that moment, those smells swirling around my head and heart, my hand twisting the cork on a bottle of Agrapart Terroirs, well I loved her more than I even thought possible. Better…getting better.
She and I had damn near killed the bottle of bubbles before my father in-law got back from the driving range, thankfully my bag was well stocked and my partner in killing bottles, (that would be the father in-law) and I still had plenty for later. Kisses on my face, big smile and electric blue eyes, he jumped right into the already started party, the two of them and their banter….death wishes and love, cracking me up. My parents, Jeremy’s grandparents…not ours through birth or blood but by choice and love. Better….getting better.
I scooped broccoli salad, mushrooms (one of these days I will get that woman to tell me how she is able to coax the simple mushroom into absolute perfection) a popover and not one but three slabs of pork…making sure to snag at least one piece of the crunchy, caramelized end bit…before the prison reacher could, on to my plate. Poured the father in-law and I a couple glasses of Vajra Docetto D’Alba and before I knew it, I was eating….like a lot. Tender, subtle but, in more ways than one, powerful pieces of pork being washed down with pure, clean and perfect Dolcetto, the rich porky flavor of my past mixed with the bright, vibrant and earthy flavors of my now. Better….getting better.
I’ve been fed
In more ways than one…
Not quite full just yet but