June 4, 2006

• I should be cleaning, not blogging — Geez, when have you ever seen me say that? — as I’m having a party for the youngest tomorrow at 2:00.  But I don’t feel like I can settle into the plodding mode cleaning requires until I give thanks for — I’m thinking — splendor comes to mind but that’s not a good fit.  Yes, it is.  I’ve had a splendid, last 24 hours. 

  
  

  Friday night, after finally cracking open The Artist’s Way, I decided to begin.  My first morning pages were more than I’d hoped for, and, between the leaps my mind made and the circles my hips made, I came home from church in a very different place from where I left you last.

  
  

  My friend, from the hospital, and I went to hear the sax player last night, and I believe we have been formally adopted as groupies.  The guitar player came over to say hi and I introduced him.  Then the sax player stopped by during a break and gave me his card, suggesting I email him.  I had asked about other blues bands in Portland.  Score. 

  
  

  I kind of mean that but I kinda don’t.  First of all, I think he’s way younger than I thought, out-of-the-question young.  Besides, I’m done messing around with men.  If I can’t see living with them, I’m not going to kiss them.  Second of all, he’s a dork who takes himself seriously.  But I still lust after him.  He had a suit on with the perfect hat and elegant shoes.  He has to be one of the sexiest men I’ve laid eyes on since I’ve been divorced.  And he’s a nice man with a good heart.  I don’t really know about his heart, of course, but I watched him showing the bass player how he wanted it and the drummer what rhythm was next.  He put his hand on his heart and pounded out the beat.  Oh, yeah.

  
  

  The reason the night was so fun was that these two young men have discovered how to play together.  I hadn’t realized the first time I saw them together was about the first time they’d been together.  Before, they took turns with the lead but over the month since I’ve heard them they have married well.  They were darling, grinning at each other, getting in close, feeding off each other.  They hired a new bass player, maybe just for the night, and he was good but they weren’t letting him close.  The venue was along the lines of the biker bar but a popular place with an interesting mix.  Some guy came out of nowhere and asked me to dance.  Usually, there is no one even remotely appropriate, and here he came, amidst the rubble.  I wouldn’t use that term unless it were accurate.

  
  

  Church was splendid, too.  I got to witness my first Baptism.  The babies and toddlers were precious but not as cute as their parents.  And, at the coffee afterwards, a woman and I connected.  She was maybe 59 and similar to the previous week’s chat in that she, too, had come recently to the church, was married to an older man, and probably had been a beatnik. 

  
  

  I’ve stalled long enough, and the tea is cold.  But I want to thank those of you who have mentioned the Artist’s Way for finally getting me to my morning pages.  Today I discovered the importance of community.  I have begun to see myself differently, as I reflect on and against people and places, new and old.  When they called me by name at the coffee shop and sought me out at church, a sense of belonging came over me.  Whether it is midnight and smokey with sirens blaring or standing in heels beneath stained glass, I can find a way to fit.

  • 5:06 pm
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