every little once in a while

at thirteen she is capable, independent and confident - how i love her mind, the thoughts she still shares and her quirky, and increasingly sophisticated, humour. 

since she got home from school on friday i've barely seen her - she popped in yesterday to change her shoes on her way to the ferry with a group of friends. watching her swish in, kiss me, pat the kitty and toss a few fond words to Leo and Mayonnaise - her fish - i wanted to grab her and hold her close to me on the sofa while i read her stories, or rub her back for hours like a once did. oh, but she looked so happy and beautiful - and she hugged me tightly and told me she loved me before she was gone again.

she and i have grown together; traveled together; lost and mourned together; created a life together. as he slowly joined us, we made a trio of integrated parts - a small whole. she is gradually branching off and i am watching her, puffed with pride and grateful beyond measure. every now and then, though, when she slips back into my arms as her little girl self, my heart sings and everything feels just right.

each day is valentines day

"do you promise to wish me happy valentine's day first?" 

i agreed. she is still such a little girl, in her heart, and it touches me.

this morning, at 6, he woke me with soft kisses and valentine salutations - i stroked his freshly smooth cheek and said nothing. 

he loves me and sees everything i could ever say, in my eyes.

gossamer view

"being a woman is a privilege," i remind myself as i curl on my bed - kidney-shaped or foetal.

it is. some days are like this. i let my head do it's thing and follow the thread...

• gotta get my hair cut
• gotta get her hair cut
• wonder if he's ready for a hair cut
• the kitten is probably due for a worm tablet. oh - need to get the vet food for her next time - runny poop with the market one.
• wonder if she fed her fish; "did you feed your fish, zu?"
• sigh
• wonder if i should take a pill
• tea
• where did i get that rose petal tea?
• it's hot
• it's so hot
• groan "ahhhhh" 
• i want pineapple
• am i even due yet?  isn't this early?
• wonder when mumma hit menopause
• oh, violin. where's that form? "zu, where's that form?"
• i wanna do the sculpture walk
• it's so hot
• i still wanna do the sculpture walk
• 4 o'clock we're doing it - i don't care
• "we're doing the sculpture walk at 4... ok?"
• i like silver and violet; violet or pansy purple - blue purple more than red
• i like silver; gossamer 
• i could put silver on my curtains
• i have to paint this room. i hate this room
• i like this room. i like the water through the window. i like the trees through the window. i like the room. i don't like the curtains. daddles put those curtains up. we bought them in remuera and he put all those little cream plastic things on them. we really liked them for him. it's ok if i don't want them. he doesn't care. i should get the lawns done. i miss my daddles 
• quick breathing 
• deep breathing 
• gotta get some lunch food for tomorrow. perhaps they'll go with a list. he'll stick to the list. they'll split the list and be back with everything, including a treat for me, in half the time. am i like my mumma? i don't chat to everyone but i guess i dawdle 
• it's hot
• my neck's sweaty
• hate my hair on my neck
• i gotta get a hair cut

lost in conversation

i had coffee, this morning, with my dear friend. we talked about this and that for a while and then we starting talking...
we jumped into parenting and all the confusion and feelings of ineptitude that it presents, went on to 'other people' and how messy they are, found ourselves at hopes and dreams - which made us both a little coy, and ended with feisty hallelujahs and pats on the back.
i came home feeling fizzy and a little annoyed at all that i didn't quite say. i am an introvert but i open to intimate friends and loved ones - i know i do.  i tend to measure words but i am skilled at determining an authentic message, composing it with heart and mind and presenting it with my sincere blessing. today, i wanted more. i felt like worming into my guts and wriggling around until i found the switch that turned on the super-soaker - i wanted to flood the table and teacups with more of me. 
he thinks it's the midazolam i was filled with yesterday before surgery, making me feel a little disassociated. i respond strangely to many pharmaceutical drugs, so he is probably right. looking forward to connecting with myself again, though. 

wait for me

over the next three days i must prepare for a medical procedure. i am allowed to eat mashed potatoes and scrambled eggs and i may have vinegar and 4 water crackers. i love mashed potatoes, so i'm feeling ok about it.
 i find myself measuring my expectations of this n.z appointment against my experiences in the u.s. surely it is slicker there, if slick is actually to be desired in a colonoscopy, i don't know - but i remember it was quite low key. i called to make an appointment that suited my schedule and my prep was simply to drain myself of all obstructions, on the day, with a nice little lemon drink that i picked up from my local pharmacy. it is quite a different matter here. after a referral from my doctor, and a few prodding calls, the clinic wrote to me to suggest an appointment 6 months hence. "oh, but my doctor believes i am an urgent case," i said, "with my family history of 'death from colon cancer' etc, i surely rate a closer appointment."
"i'm afraid not. you have been judged by a team of specialists who will be happy to see you in 6 months - um - valentine's day." her voice brightened... i suspect she has an ardent lover who will treat her well on february 14th. meanwhile, i reconciled myself to the 6 month wait.
last wednesday i received a package from the clinic with some pills and a powdered drink sachet. this came with a friendly letter instructing me on the do's and dont's; in's and out's (if you'll allow)- along with a date change.
i admit to flutters and jitters. i've experienced those since my first procedure in 2000, about a year after my mumma died. i can't help but imagine her sitting in the waiting room, comforting herself that it would all be just fine. not for a moment believing that she would walk out of the clinic with a death sentence. on wednesday, i'll be sitting in that very same clinic waiting room - thinking about my mumma.

crime in colour

i dream in technicolour... i'm almost blinded by the flamboyant images that flood my subconscious in the small hours of my REM sleep.

last night, in response to some innocent flirting, my best friend chopped up, boiled and made gravy out of a man who's only crime was to become engaged. i was terrified at her certainty as i tried to convince her that he did not deserve to die. 

what is happening in my head that i should dream with such flavour? whatever it is, i don't care for it. i spent most of the morning trying to deconstruct the dream and have it make sense in my life but all i came up with was my vegetarianism and a vague sense of uneasiness that i may be a bit of a hard-ass once in a while.

no surprises there!

congestion

not overwhelmed exactly, but feeling uncomfortably full.

first of all, my stomach is a belly and i'm deciding how i'll dress her. glitter and sequins is just not me! i think i'm more of a jeep gal, like the ice-cream ad when i was 9, although silk and brushed cotton are my two choices for lingerie.

secondly, my brain better pick up the pace or she's going to be outrun and that won't work for any of us.

third, i have some sweet memories and i'm forever being side-tracked. the trick there is to wait until it's time to go to sleep and unleash the chest to dribble into my dreams. the memory chest.

fourth, i'm responsible and i want her to find gold in her teeth and treasures under her bed. i want everything for her. my love and devotion and awe squeeze my shoulders and sometimes i feel like i'm bouncing on a bed whose springs have been sprung.

lastly, i'm in love and one day i might be a little old lady listening to my own love stories. i want them to be - oooh - an outstanding collection of herbs and spices; my tales from long, long ago.

so, tonight, i arrange 1-5 in a row and ask for an extension because i am a bit sleepy and want to lay down.

true colours

i was watching a woman on the ferry, this afternoon. she had long, wiry grey hair and small rectangular glasses. she sat down opposite me - even though there were plenty of other seats and i'd deliberately  plumped myself up and stretched my bags across the banquette so i'd have the table to myself. nothing personal, i just prefer to sit alone on the ferry. i peeked at her through my dark sunglasses, wondering if she'd want to chat. i didn't. i wanted to stare at the water but found myself staring at her instead.
she looked at me a few times, quietly and steadily - enough so i had to make a bit of a show of busyness to prove i was unavailable for banter. i pulled out my phone and flicked off some texts; grabbed the kindle and fiddled through some pages; dredged up a foodie mag from my bottomless-pit of a bag, which kept me occupied for about 5 minutes; then, popped up to the cafe for a bag of chips and ate them very slowly.

she, on the other hand, sat quite still and rested her head on one hand, propped up by her elbow. she looked out the window and i noticed the sunlight catching some fine lines around her mouth. her eyebrows were slightly raised and gave the impression that she was a little perturbed.

perhaps she sensed me looking at her, for she turned to me and said, "isn't it hot?" I lifted my dark glasses, so as not to be rude, and mumbled an affirmation. we looked at each other and neither of us spoke. her eyes were light blue and crisp - not at all gluey or watery with age. she had a sort of sparkle, if i'm being fanciful, and i felt myself smiling at her.
i couldn't think of anything to say so i didn't try and she turned her sparkle back to the water.
the ferry headed into the bay and i started gathering my things, ready to make a run for the exit. she pulled her carpet bag onto the table and leaned her arms against it.
"what a beautiful coloured bag," i said to her.
"yes, isn't it? my husband bought it for me in Singapore. he saw it in a shop window and brought me to see it the next day. he said it reminded him of me - bright and colourful," she giggled. i felt a sort of sick sadness in my stomach. this little grey haired woman had once been loved and cherished. now, her man had gone and she was left with the bag that served as a memory of his long ago declarations. suddenly, i wanted to talk with her. i wanted to know all about her life with her man and her travels to exotic places and her thoughts about everything.
we both stood while the ferry was being tied to the wharf and i kept my eyes on her. she looked over and smiled and again mentioned the heat. i saw small droplets glistening in her silver hairline and i imagined her making her way home on the bus and unlocking her door, patting her cat and sitting in front of a brisk fan. i hoped she had something cool to drink in her fridge.
on the gangplank she turned, smiled once more and said, "have a lovely day, dear. stay nice and cool." i nodded and said, "yes, you too. have a good night."
i walked behind her, weaving around the crowds of tourists which flood our small island throughout the summer. i kept sight of her as she headed to the parking lot and into the embrace of an older, distinguished looking man who towered above her. i quickened my pace to get a better look and saw them walking, hand in hand, to a nice late model sedan - which, i'm now convinced, was equipped with air conditioning.