girl talk.

November 10, 2011

oh no it isn’t. it is not november 10th, 2011 and it is not getting dark at 4.53pm and it has not been months since i carved out some time to be here writing. writing is dessert. like chocolate decadent biting in to a truffle dessert. sitting here at my table with a steaming cup of coffee  – knowing there are hours in front of me to commit all these whisper-thin threads of words that describe life to a place where i can make some sense and others can visit – is delicious.

this deep dive of seeking and purging and wondering if indeed there is a story somewhere in here – one that may give to you or to me a breath of air or moment of “oh that! i know that!” or a little bright star like an asterisk that even just hints at recognition – is both nurturing and exhausting. is it strange to note that when i write and write and write and then go back to read what is there, my experience is that also? as though i am writing first and having my experience of it second, so much so that i am in moments caught off guard when i read my own words. and therein lies that incredible deliciousness; the weaving of words can be so intimate and intuitive that all awareness of other things disappears. you go in one side and then out the other not really sure what happened in the in-between. it’s like the id really drops away for a bit, and in such a surrender of self consciousness, what’s left in the best moments are simple sweet words and candor.

it is dark out early now and the house is so cold in the mornings especially in the bathroom where the ancient porcelain tile is. the fans have been packed in to the garage and the heaters pulled out. trader joes has printed their thanksgiving check-off list and maya’s christmas list has already reached four pages. and there is an ipad on there, an ipad for god’s sake! (this i think because she realized there was not an iphone in her future, not even close.) family will be arriving in a month’s time plus a bit more and my two favorite holidays sparkle right out on the horizon in front of me. and though memory and nuance and layers of mental snapshots have been fodder for recent blogs, i admit this time of year isn’t helping to dispel this journey in to what has been.

on my computer i have thousands of photographs of my daughter, separated in to files denoting years, and months within years. forgive me for exclaiming again how beautiful she is, has always been. for she is take-my-breath-away lovely this girl, and now she is 8.5 and her humor and particular brainy-ness and coltish legs describe her so much, even though her cake-batter smell is there in moments, and the lilt of her neck contains the same long line, and when the tears come hot and wounded, her face scrunches up as it did at two, and three, and four, those years of her being big and little all at once. in my mind and in my body especially i can remember her in my arms as a three month old; it was august and warm, and i danced on the porch of our first house with her, singing in to her ear and trying to get her to sleep despite the heat and discomfort. just months before i had walked the slow walk of eight months pregnant down our hallway to the front bedroom to lay down and nap.

it was april i believe and the windows were wide open. the front rooms were saturated with late afternoon light, and the gardenias planted in the brick boxes in the yard filled the front of our house with fragrance for months that year. we had a vintage shade that pulled down in front of the arched window like a projector screen, from top to bottom, and there was enough space at the bottom of the window to see the world move languidly by as i lay on my side trying to get settled around my big belly. by that point we had lost jaxson, but lucy bean was asleep at the foot of the bed and the two kitties were stretched out in their favorite spot in the sun. life was sweet and slow-moving in those weeks, and i remember with the oddest clarity giggling through her rib kicks as maya stretched and fought for room inside of me before both of us allowed for sleep at almost the same time.

and now the rib kicks come from the outside, as we stretch out on the very same bed we shared when my body housed us both. the pillow fights and friday night wrestling matches have resulted in more than a few shin bruises and kicks to the head, but they are worth every fleeting pain. for eventually one of us surrenders and we settle in to the twisted sheets and down comforter to read side by side, drink hot cocoa, and tell each other stories from the week which is winding down. at some point maya is mid-chapter and absent-mindedly reaches for me, wrapping her fingers around my wrist or balling them in to fists that sit perfectly in the palm of my hand. we turn off the light together or she gives in to sleep first and i sneak some time sinking deeper in to a book and in to the quiet. and always, always, asleep or awake, that little girl cheek of hers gets kissed and wishes of sweet sleep and perfect dreams are whispered in her ear.  i close my eyes to her even breath, overwhelmed with my love for this one amazing girl, while the faintest scent of vanilla cupcakes surrounds us both.

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6 Responses to “girl talk.”

  1. Sharlene Says:

    Love it, Ker, as always! xo
    Shar Shar xo

  2. Mel Says:

    So lovely. I love you both.

  3. loreen Says:

    you know how much i love maya ….

    ….
    but what i really want is a vanilla cup cake.

    just saying.

    xoxo.

  4. nick sandro Says:

    Thank you for the inspired thoughts about the writing. Ditto on the love for these little monkeys. Oh my, once again you’ve got me dreaming of what might have been. Love you, N.

  5. javier Says:

    I did not have the time to read it yet… beautiful words, beautiful you !!.
    I miss our long talks in your terrace.
    I miss you.
    How is our bugambilla plant ??


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