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| Gray day at the beach with a bright spot.
Love is always the bright spot, isn't it?
Only sometimes I get confused and think it's wine. I've gone through long stretches of just having water at dinner since Dan died. Alcohol is a depressant, right? It would be wise not to drink, right? Of course.
But there I am at the dinner table, and my mom is doing her weird sashay between this world and some other world. "Where did you take that casserole?" She asked me the other night as she awakened from her dinner table doze. She'd dreamed I'd made a casserole and taken it somewhere to a pot luck. Last night she began feeling around on the table, eyes closed, touching her napkin, the silverware, thin air. When she began tugging on the edge of her placemat, I asked her what she was looking for. "The shooters," she said, opening her eyes. "You know, the things for leaving something on the table." Or something like that. It didn't really make sense. But she was dreaming and whose dreams do make sense? Me, I dream about bears. A lot. Does that make sense? She woke up. "Oh, never mind," she said. She knew she'd been dreaming and that it didn't make any sense. She knew what was what.
The night before last I was at the cooktop when I heard the martini glass topple and felt a splash on my heels. The glass had only tipped to the countertop and miraculously didn't break even though its contents flew through the air. It's like she's a poltergeist. You think she's just your mom reading the newspaper on the iPad, then she closes her eyes while her hands cast spells and the next thing you know things are crashing around you. I went for the wine that night. And took a walk. Maybe I'll walk with wine. A nice travel mug. Me and the sunset. Wine and a podcast. That's about as perfect as it's gonna get for now.
But speaking of love and bright spots, where's your bright spot these days?
A good book is always a bright spot. I just finished Kate Atkinson's "Life after Life." It's going to churn around inside my head for a while. You can read about it HERE if you want. |
Sunday, August 24, 2014
The Bright Spot
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9 comments:
Oh boy, what is my bright spot? I am in the thick of a divorce that surely will go on forever, my work is overly consuming and my right hand person just quit, my mom has Alzheimer's Disease, her fluffy- little-14-year old-stubborn dog is now my constant companion, every weekend is spent moving someone's stuff (mine, my mother's, my daughter off to college 400 miles away.) But I do know what the bright spot is - reading the amazing blogs of other 50ish women going through the same type stuff. I look forward to your every post and I can't stop thinking about your recent short story. So clever, on so many levels. Love you, Laura
Beer is mine, and good books. Music when I'm in the mood for a certain song and I can walk my block in laps and listen to it on repeat. My two cats.
My first comment!
-Your newest FB friend, SJ:)
Seeing your blog come up at the top of Mary Moon's blogroll is a bright spot for me. Another is being back on my bike, and once again having the ability to walk longer distances. And a glass of good wine improves the view.
My bright spot?
I'm having trouble with that lately. I suppose it would be a walk by the river, or a chance to talk to a good friend. Definitely friends.
My bright spot is our writing group getting together this week, and you'll be there!
I think I have lots of tiny bright spots that I try to skip across the darkness on. Today one is definitely the weather which in the turn of a night has changed to a promise of fall.
I think wine and the sunset sounds like as good a bright spot as any. I know what you mean--since it is a depressant, it isn't always bright. But sometimes it's good. You know.
my mother is doing the same dance as yours these days. it's hard and disorienting to watch.
Going to the beach is always a bright spot. Green stuff outside. Blog posts like this. I have a lovely friend who used to live several houses down the street from me. I still had a houseful of little kids. She had one youngster still at home. One day a gaggle of my kids came running into our house, excited, to tell me, "Lovely Friend is walking up to our house with a *bottle of wine and two glasses*!" They kept repeating it. Indeed she was. She knew I'd had a rough week and she walked up the street, all in plain view of gossipy neighbors, to totally make my night. Make my whole week. So, also friends.
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