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Not-your-average-mama's mama

Thursday, February 6, 2014

What Kind of Bird is This?

I sent an email today that said "...and I will miss walking with him only a few minutes before he stops to point out some damn bird asking me 'what kind of bird is that?' & I would say 'I never know the answer. After a lifetime of that question, I never know the answer.' He would eventually tell me after my very feeble attempts and we would both smile at the game as it is always played." An hour ago, after months of not seeing a bird fly by my window amidst the snow and cold, I caught a glimpse of what looked like a bird. It is -6 degrees, but there I stood by the glass watching one lone bird hop along, look me in the eye and tilt it's head at me as if to say 'what kind of bird is this?' I swear I heard the question in my ears. Then, it disappeared. It did not fly away, but walked along until it seemed to vanish. The little bird footprints still remain ending abruptly in the snow.

I think I know the answer this time.

Saturday, December 14, 2013

It Is No Accident...Read It

Someone once told me when a book falls in to your lap, Read it. I suppose that could be meant metaphorically, but most certainly should it happen, literally - read it. Given as a gift, left on a bench beside you, falling off a shelf as you walk by - it is no accident. Read it.

I found this book in my office in the box of scripts I keep by the bed. There is a bed in my office, as a place to lay when I am struggling with sleep or pain or my racing mind, which happens far too often than I like to admit. I know the book was not there last week, because I had just gone through the box in one of my regular attempts to organize my thoughts, the writing projects that have gotten away from me and the roles I am praying I will get to play - just scripts and note pads and random notes written on napkins, receipts and the backs of medical bills. I remembered what I was told. Read it.

I looked at the cover with its deep blue, but faded from age or sun or, perhaps, water damage, color. The title "One" written in a very 1980s-style script and the gold infinity sign. I could only stare at it and then came "What the hell?! How did this get here?" I flipped it over & the back cover said "I gave my life to become the person I am now. Was it worth it?" That's it. No further description. No other words. My ears started ringing. Didn't I just ask myself this very question? I did. I know, because I cried myself to sleep trying to manifest the answer in my brain. I wrestle with that one on the daily now. Ashton must have slipped the book in here with the intention of telling me he found it in some used bookstore. It wreaked of him. But, when I said "thanks for the book, but I don't have time to read it right now." He said "What are you talking about? I've never seen that book before." Who was the last person that stayed here? Me. I was. The one holding the book. I gave up, set it on the table next to the bed and for the next week, set my coffee cup on top of it while I sank lower in my own depths of all of it - life.

I slept 17 hours last night. SEVENTEEN. I woke up, grabbed another cup of coffee, but this time, rather than set that cup on top of the book. I started to read it.

It all seemed like just a bunch of words on paper until page 61. This character, an actress, says to her younger self in a happenstance meeting...

"The choices are yours, more than you suspect. If you never let go of what matters to you, if it matters so much that you are willing to struggle this hard to have it, I promise you'll have a very successful life. A hard life, because excellence is not easy, but a good life."

Could I have an easy, bad life?

"That's a choice, too."

How about an easy, happy life?

"Possible. But you wouldn't choose an easy life, would you?"




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