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Last night I saw Mary Oliver read and speak. Listening to her made me remember a different kind of breathing and that I should never leave the house without a pen. Ever. And if someone asked me today, if I could invite anyone in the world, living or not, to a dinner party, who would it be? Mary O. Hands down.
One of my all time favorites:
Little Dog’s Rhapsody in the Night (Percy Three)
by Mary Oliver
He puts his cheek against mine
and makes small, expressive sounds.
And when I’m awake, or awake enough
he turns upside down, his four paws
in the air
and his eyes dark and fervent.
Tell me you love me, he says.
Tell me again.
Could there be a sweeter arrangement?
Over and over
he gets to ask it.
I get to tell.
Every once in a while, as I’m sure most humble bloggers have experienced, there is a sudden and drastic spike in my readership. To this day, unfortunately, this can be easily linked to Google searches tagging particular post titles of mine, which then, unfortunately, disproves the theory that I have finally been discovered as a brilliant writer.
And now, in the middle of May, folks all over are trying to figure out what the hell to write on their cousin’s, sister’s, aunt’s, brother’s, friend’s, lover’s, whatever’s “Congratulations on Graduating” card – so they are asking Google what to say, which, somehow, is (mis)leading a very large amount of folks here due to my post, congratulations of your graduation from your degree, which is a grammatical disaster, just in case the jury is out on anyone, anywhere. Do not get too lazy and copy this onto your card! You will be embarrassed later. I promise. But just a few days ago I got a sweet little email from a woman in the midwest who said, “I was just trying to fill out a card when I found this story. You and your brother are the best sons a mom could hope for.” Aw, shucks. And thanks.
Point is, while I’m an accidental hot ticket on Google for this graduation season I want to try my best to keep things relevant and GAY GAY OOOOH SOOO GAY. So, I’ve found a graduation commencement speech that was delivered by our leader herself, Ellen DeGeneres. It is funny, sweet and honest- Enjoy.
My friend called me early this morning. A few minutes ago actually. Her mom is sick. Really sick. She is young and beautiful, with three grown kids, a one year old grandson and a husband who has woken up everyday since the day they met like he just won the lottery again. He adores her like nothing I’ve ever seen before. She is easy to adore.
She has cancer and has been fighting it for years now. This last week things turned again and she was in the ICU for days, up one level for a few more and is finally going home today. She is going home right now to try her “last ditch effort”, my friend said, with a new batch of chemo called Carboplatinum. I told Zoe that it sounds more like a hair color than a potential life saver and that she should check the box. Zoe said, “The irony never stops. This stuff will make sure my mom never has hair again.”
To be clear here, this friend that just called isn’t just a friend. Zoe was my first real friend, best friend, someone I have in my entire life’s gallery of memory. We have been friends for my forever.
And to be clear here, Zoe’s mom is not just a mom of a friend of mine. She was a family for me growing up. The family that didn’t get divorced, the family that ate tostadas for dinner on most Friday’s because it was fun and they all loved them. When I was over, which was a lot of Fridays, we would eat tostadas in front of the tv together on these cool fold out trays and talk and laugh with each other during the shows. This was my family with two older brothers who taught Zoe and me how to skateboard, how to spit, how to skip to level three on Super Mario Brothers and who took us (reluctantly) to our first rock concert. This was my family where you caught the mom and dad kissing anytime you walked into the kitchen. This was the mom who made the perfect peanut butter and jelly sandwich on Wonder Bread because she knew how much we loved that awful bread. This was the only other mom, besides my own, who could fix my hair the right way. This was the only other mom, besides my own, that could kiss a boo-boo and actually make it better with that kiss. This is the family, to this day, with an always open front door, with an infinite supply of Rollo’s and tortilla chips , out on the coffee table, fresh and ready to eat, ready to chat, any time, any day, always.
Zoe’s mom is gorgeous (the knock your socks off kind), graceful, witty, charming as it gets, and just plain fun to be around. She exudes beauty and happiness and her laugh will make your tummy tickle every single time. And when she starts firing off questions at you, like she loves to and will do every time she sees you, somehow, all of the answers require nothing more than you saying something good about yourself and your life. Zoe’s mom is a remarkable woman, in such a complicated and brilliant way that it makes everything I have to say about her sound like a massive descriptive injustice. But I’m trying anyway.
I’ve only prayed one other time in my life. The kind of praying where you fold your hands and look up to the sky and start things off with, “God? It’s me. Jesse.” I was in high school and I was sick. I was stuck in an MRI tube when I started talking to a very standard, Christian version of God. I promised him that I would quit smoking and try to be nicer to my brother (I followed through on both, give or take a few weak moments with the brother). It was all I could think of to offer in return for my well being. Funny what you come up with when it’s time to bargain with God. If you ever have before, you know what I mean, and if you haven’t, count those blessings of yours. Anyway, I really don’t believe in that God and didn’t then either, but when I was a few tests away from either being diagnosed ok or not the What-If potentials around religion started to run ramped.
I believe in energy. Ironically, this is something I have had quite a rocky relationship with. But I believe in it most of all. And I would go into detail here about my belief in energy but it is really that vague and uncomplicated. (I also believe that whatever it is that we all believe, we should really consider leaving some wiggle room in there, so not to get too blindsided, and to have room ready, when bits of truth start to surface… but that sounds a bit preachy, so I’ll stop there.)
Zoe would tell you she believes in dinosaurs, but enjoys talking to folks that don’t. I like that a lot.
The last thing Zoe said before she got off the phone with me a few minutes ago, to go into the hospital to pick up her mom was, “Pray for my mom today. Meditate on this Carboplatinum stuff making her better.”
I have this heavy feeling inside that this is the all-or-nothing hand that is being dealt to Zoe’s mom today, and I don’t know why and it is breaking me inside. So, I’m stuck, with my hands struggling to figure out if they should fold together or not, as I pray for the second time in my life, with all of my might, to Carboplatinum and to every What-If there is.
Having recently been laid off, having more time on my hands, and with spring sprung and creeping into summer the Seal and I have been outside, out and about, for most of our day, more than not.
This morning the Seal and I went for a long walk, like we do. The lilacs are fully bloomed and just beginning to drop. The Seal and I both love to smell them in huge, dramatic inhales and stop frequently to do so. The tulips are all spent, give or take a few late bloomers, the blue bells are standing and tired, the daffodils are weeks gone and the rhododendron are all tightly budded, ready to explode at any given moment . The cherry blossoms make it look like it snowed pink last night, but only in very particular patches.
On our walk this morning the Seal had a blossom stick to the top of her nose and after shaking her head a few times with no relief she just walked on, crossing her eyes every once in a while to focus on it. I thought it looked cute and springy and let the decoration stay until it finally fell several blocks later.
There is this older woman, 75 maybe, that lives in the neighborhood. Margaret is her name. She is always out walking with her dog. Always. It is almost impossible to stray more than a few blocks from home without passing by her. I use to catch her at my bus stop, sitting outside the bagel shop, sipping coffee and giving every other bite of her bagel to Thomas, her rolly polly little wiener dog.
Thomas has several outfits, depending on the weather, of course. He mostly sports either his blue sweater for cold, dry days or a little yellow raincoat for the rainy days. If my jacket style is similar to what Thomas is wearing I know I have properly prepared. She and I have always said hello in passing. Some days are chattier than other, like during the election, she would go on and on about how its “plenty time to let this Obama kid get going and get things going right for a change!” She is clearly quite intelligent, well spoken, progressive and very sweet and it always cracks a smile onto my face when I see her and her little fat dog walking around together.
I haven’t seen Margaret or Thomas around in months and I have thought about this a lot. I have been curious and worried with obvious suspicions but haven’t figured out how to go about finding anything out.
So, the Seal and i were out this morning, for a nice long stroll when all of a sudden, a block and a half a head of us i saw what appeared to be an older person walking what appeared to be Thomas in his little blue sweater.They were crossing the street and turning a corner and I had seconds before they would be out of site so I yelled, “That isn’t Thomas by any chance, is it?” as I began to jog towards them. A voice, not Margaret’s, said back, “This little weeny here? Ya, thats him. Who’s askin?”
My stomach sank a bit as I was jogging over, to find out about Margaret. As I got closer I could see this old man, clearly not Margaret. He had slicked back white hair, snow-white side burns, the most typical gray old-man-pants with the most typical brown leather old man shoes, a green button down collared shirt with a big blue postal jacket, a tough-guy posture, leaned up against a fence, holding the leash of that fat little rolly polly wiener dog, Thomas, that the Seal and I were oh so happy to see.
“Hi there,” I said. “My name is Jesse. Sorry to chase you down a street but I just haven’t seen Thomas or Margaret in some time.” And then I just went for it, “Is Margaret ok?”
And as soon as this old man opened his mouth and said, “Damn near died I tell you. Goddamn doctors are only human but if I hadn’t raised em’ some hell over there, well then, who knows. Nearly killed her liver with some goddamn medicine that she didn’t even need, I tell you what, I’ve had it with those damn doctors. Think they’re god but dumb as bricks, some of ‘em” I realized that this old man was an old woman. This old man was Margaret’s partner.
I smiled big and said, “But she is ok. Man, that is great to hear.”
“Of course she’s ok. They all think she’s just this sweet old lady. Well, that’s cause she is. But I ain’t.” and she laughed big, holding her belly.
We talked for a while, well she did the talking, like a grumpy old man, complaining on and on about everything from how the damned winter killed all the rosemary around here: “In all my life of living here, when in the hell have I ever had to pay for rosemary at the store? Now I’m buying the stuff from California. Damn snow took ‘em all out.” To complaining about the roundabouts at the end of all of our streets: “If your car is too big for ya, well, shame on you for it. But if it ain’t, cause you need it, like my 4×4 pickup truck, well, now, you try to get that son of a bitch around that damn circle. Try it. Gonna run up the side every time, so what good is that? Don’t slow me down none either, just pisses me off.”
I stood there listening, agreeing with everything regardless, and marveled at what an amazingly beautiful and masculine person Margaret’s partner was (I never got her name but she mentioned that they had lived in their house for more than 30 years together). And how relieved I was that Margaret was ok. And how happy I was that she had someone looking after her, taking care of her. How lucky I am to be right where I am, right now.
We said goodbye and as the Seal and I walked off I heard, “Come on, you little weeny. Let’s go now.” A few seconds later I turned around and saw Margaret’s partner bent over, picking one of the last tulips standing and I realized that bringing your girl a flower never gets old.
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