Friday, July 17, 2009
Some mornings find me still lounging in my husband's boxers sipping coffee long after he's left for work and the dishes are still piled up and the laundry still needs to be switched up and the resumes need to be send out. I contemplate:
The sense of time
The hours and how they can be spent
The feel of a new writing pen
Conversations (or lack of) with my children just an hour before
Renting a bulldozer to create new paths
And these hands.....
Why the same hands that write down a million ideas are the same hands that don't always make the ideas come to life
The feel of paint on them
The lines of my husband's body
The odd combination of my mother's big knuckles and my paternal grandmother's slender fingers and how genetics and generations really do shape our patterns
The next word to be written
The next food ingredient to be felt
And these feet....
The many miles they have traveled
The places they want to go
The dance steps they want to dance
The perfect inked circle on my left ankle that constantly serves to remind me to walk a life in balance
The feel of my daughter's feet touching mine under the Dining Room table. Even when we are feeling hurt and can't find the words, we find the tiniest ways to communicate.
Walking barefoot and feeling the earth and sand and pavement under my feet
How, so many years ago, the bottom of my foot was gashed open from a heavy glass that was thrown at me by an abusive boyfriend. It was a long journey over the years but I came to an absolute understanding that I would never be treated badly by anyone ever again. I have a real problem to this day when I see women being treated (and accepting) this kind of behavior from men. Take your feet, stand up tall and walk down a different road.