No Blog This Morning. Too Wrapped Up.

I sit here in the middle of so much life that I can’t get outside of it to write. 

When I was a freshman in college, I met a “fast” girl.  I had been raised slow.  But now I was 300 miles east of home, living in the dorm at University of Detroit and in the moment of my memory, I was in Cindy P.,s basement, a pizza on the table in front of us, a blanket wrapped around us, a space heater at our feet, watching a move on television.  At least I was watching the movie.  Cindy was making amorous overtures.  This had never happened before.  The girls I had gone out with in Des Plaines, the quiet little town outside of Chicago, had been slow, like me, when it came to what we did or didn’t do on dates.  I used levity to get through the night without getting literally carried away by her desire, on the second or third date, she realized that I was too slow for her, and she threw me out.  But on that first date, I remember remaining on the outside of the situation, looking in, as if I were watching the two of us on television.  From the outside, my observing self was able to feed lines to my in-the-scene self, to keep the me on the couch detached and in control.  I still remember reflecting on that detachment, before I’d even turned 18. 

This morning I have no such inclination.  I’m wrapped tight in the blanket of life’s experiences yesterday and today, and life is having its way with me.  I can’t write from the outside.  I can only tell you what is happening.  Yesterday morning Kathy shifted from helping me prepare for todays “Old Town Arts and Crafts Fair”, the debut of a dream of mine, “Wood for Good”, turning things I’ve made into doing good.  47 bread boards, 8 wine bottle holders, and a handful of left-over Chinese “Mom” and “Daddy” carvings are in the Subaru, along with the tent, chairs, racks, and paraphernalia that we’ll set up this morning (after the rain stops, we hope) for a fundraiser for Goodwill Inn, 40% going to help our homeless and 60% helping our home.  The week had been a kind of tussle as Kathy stood her ground in our first real shared business venture, she planning ahead while I would have put things off until the last minute.  Kathy having effectively stood her ground, the preparation was much better and more complete, allowing her to shift her full attention to preparation for Nadia’s 10^th birthday party.

There in her parents’ back yard, three 10x10 that had been put up in case of rain protected us from the warm sun.  The vestigial chicken coop was a perfect bar and buffet, balloons and streamers everywhere.  But the commanding vision was of a 20x20, 15 foot high metal roof held up by 10” thick pine poles wrapped with Italian Christmas lights, a stage for the children to perform their play, a traditional part of these grand gatherings in years past.  But this year, there was a new Director, replacing David, the father of the birthday girl.  She came gliding by as I was deep in conversation with Bernie the Farmer, deep in reflection on our lives with our fathers, and our brothers who have died. 

She was tall, lithe, wearing big earrings, a flowing scarf, long, gossamer skirt, and high heels that were somehow exotic in the woods.  She was smiling a smile that was a blend of joy and confidence as she went by on her way from the house to the stage.  And when we had all finished our healthy and organic pot luck supper and our organic but way-too-goopy to be healthy towering three-level ice-cream cake with ten tall, lithe candles, the Director called for our attention, introducing the players and their roles.  The tight-rope walker thrilled us with all the right moves, helping us ignore the fact that the jute cord was stretched not in the air above us, but on the grass at our feet.  The lion tamer made puck the dog almost leonine in his stepping through the hula hoop ring.  The Fortune Teller predicted Nadia’s tenth birthday, and even predicted that she’d be chased off the stage by the little boy with the croquet mallet, at the very moment he began to do jump up and do just that.

And as we packed up our empty pans to go home, the Director came over and gave me a hug tighter than I remember getting from her before.  Maybe it was those high heels that let her get a better grip, those long arms of hers that could really wrap around me.  “Thanks, Bapa, for my birthday present; I really like it.” 

So this morning I can’t step out of my life and look at it from the outside.  It has its arms wrapped around me, holding tight.  I’m still in that woodsy back yard, smiling at that huge contraption of a gazebo/stage/lean-to that David and his dad had erected just three days ago.  I still see Amy and David’s friends, and their children and even their parents, the young ones running around, the older ones standing together, sitting together, little warm conversations, smiles breaking into laughter, non-verbal affirmation, attention in full measure.

And now I hear the rain, and imagine it washing Union Street, and particularly the area in front of Hibbard Flowers, where Booth #118, the Wood for Good booth, will just perhaps sell some wood, but certainly do some good, rain or shine.  So you see, I’m way too busy to write my blog this morning.  I can’t tear myself away. 

 FreeLemonadeStand by John J. Daniels is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.