I did run out to coffee! One bare glance in the mirror as I was leaving the house saw barely brushed hair, old sweat pants, a red sweat jacket that’s seen better days, and someone older than she feels inside peeking back with hopeful eyes. But I dismissed the uncomfortable part of what I saw, and kept going.
It was fun! I enjoyed getting to know the other mom as much as I thought I would, and since I didn’t have the energy, I didn’t bother to be anyone else than me. In fact, I even told her that I’m living in a rather dysfunctional way where I barely and rarely go anywhere, but that when the notion and impulse hit me when we got the second car, she was the one I wanted to meet up with and get to know. True that.
So what did Dr. Suess say? “Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don’t matter, and those who matter don’t mind.” Another favorite by Oscar Wilde: “Be yourself; everyone else is already taken.” The years of the veneer of normal are long gone for me.
An interesting thing that I’ve learned before and should have remembered: it wasn’t nearly as big a deal to her as it was to me to be truthfully vulnerable with where I’m at. In fact, it rather left the door wide open for her to be real. My vulnerability left a safe space for her to enter. It quickly became clear to me that once again, not all is at it seems on the surface face we often wear to the world at large.
We sat and talked mostly unfiltered. I say mostly, for who really knows the heart? I found out that she might be moving in a couple months, and silently kicked myself (just a little) for not stepping out of my hidey-hole cave sooner.
Meanwhile, I’m watching the tilled area where I sowed the wildflower seed packets with an anticipation that doesn’t yet want to count on it happening (but I keep imagining how it would look). I imagine sitting with tea and a good book at the small glass table that I’ll set on the small worn patio area, and waiting for the hummingbirds to come. Do you see the lilacs on my blog site? That photo was taken by my youngest daughter last spring. I can’t wait for them to bloom, to close my eyes, and bury my nose and breathe in that heavenly scent.
If only I could also see another flock of busy, silly, serious, industrious chickens in the currently broken down coop. So far, he’s still entirely against having chickens. This morning, I almost feel hopeful that even chickens are not impossible.