Saturday, August 2, 2008
Small Is Good
In my opinion, today is one of the most beautiful days of this entire summer so far.
Or perhaps it's just that my mind has calmed down enough to enjoy it.
I don't know which and it doesn't matter, just as it doesn't matter why my mind has calmed down this much. Could it possibly be from the antidepressant's effect already? Who cares? If it's "only" the placebo effect, I congratulate my brain for it's ability to make me feel so much saner than it has in months and I just have to wonder why the fuck it's been doing the opposite for so long.
I feel a little uh, what I'd call "drugged" but that, too, is fine with me. My stomach doesn't hurt, my mind doesn't hurt, my hands and feet aren't tingling, I don't have a lump in my throat and I can look out at this beautiful green day with a temperature and humidity that feel practically fall-like in that they can't be higher than the low 90's and I say, "Phew, thank God and the pharmaceutical industry."
This week my newly-married daughter and her newly-minted husband have moved out of my house and into their own apartment. My youngest daughter and I went to visit her there today and it was so nice, seeing the couple in their first real nest. They have finally been able to unpack and use some of their wedding presents and even though the apartment is relatively small and old, it's funky and charming and it's light and airy and has hardwood floors and the most amazing cool turquoise hot water heater from the fifties you have ever seen in your life. Seriously, it's a work of art.
The apartment is in an old red brick complex and another one of my daughters lives there too, right across the courtyard and it makes me happy to think of that, them being within shouting distance of each other. There are pine trees and there's a clothesline and a little building where you can do your laundry. Back in the seventies, I knew another couple who lived there for awhile and my own very first apartment was right across the street in an old house that has since burned down but I remember it well.
Seeing my daughter in her own apartment brought all that back to me, how it felt to have my very own nest with my very own kitchen and very own living room and very own bathroom. It felt great. It too had hardwood floors and lots of trees around it and I remember once I got up to find a black snake, curled around the top of my stove. I was leaving for the weekend and remember telling that snake, "Look, you be gone when I get back."
I remember lying in the bed in the mornings and watching the shadows the trees cast on the walls and ceiling, how that felt, that lazing about with no one to claim my time or my energy, no one to observe or judge me, and it felt like complete freedom.
I hope that Lily and Jason feel that way now. It's their first living-alone together experience and I think they are really happy. I love seeing Lily in her own kitchen with her pots and pans and her dinner ware. She offered me coffee or juice or soda and I happily took a cup of coffee and sat on her couch and it just felt right and it felt peaceful. One of her kitty cats came out and made love to my purse on the table, rubbing her head all over it, sniffing and caressing it and then she fell asleep with one of its straps wrapped around her ankle.
It was lovely. And I could appreciate that.
I felt brave enough to go out to lunch with my youngest daughter and then we went to a Walgreens where I felt a little bit trippy and was amazed at the vast collection of drugs that a drug store sells, along with power tools and beach wear, cosmetics, soaps, shampoos, and Ben and Jerry's ice cream. You could live in a Walgreens quite happily, I think.
And now I'm home on this beautiful day, sitting in my office and looking out at all the green. Yesterday's rain did indeed bring a new level of glory to the trees and grass and flowers and I'm actually pleased to be alive.
That knowledge makes me even happier.
It is, of course, always the simple things, but it's having the calmness of spirit to appreciate that which makes it true.
I believe I'll go out to the garage where the man is contemplating his car's oil pressure and rub my head all over his chest although I doubt he'll let me fall asleep with anything of his wrapped around my ankle. He probably would, if I asked, but I've asked an awful lot of him lately. I think I'll just tell him how much I love him and then let him be.
He, like this day, is a miracle to me.
The miracle being, of course that I actually know it, I can actually feel it.