The Chair: First Person

The Chair: First Person

After another long day, just like every other day that I have lived for most of the past fifteen years; I make my way to my final evening resting place.

When did I begin to find myself in this pattern?

I get home from work exhausted, heat a prepackaged TV dinner in the microwave; pour myself a glass of vodka and flip through the channels until sleep and I become one.

It is sad to think that this chair of mine with its worn out upholstery and the telltale squeaks that disclose its age; this chair of mine knows me better than any living soul.

It was my choice to walk away, to take my leave from the world I knew.

The chaos and the stress of a family were far too much for me, but I can not help but wonder if my children ever think of me. As I take a sip I remind myself that I do not want to go down this path of thinking, this path that inevitably leads me full of sorrow and regret.

The vodka will soon take its effect on me and if I focus on the television I might get lost, I hope I will get lost, I need to get lost, once again.

I wish I had been in the kitchen when the news bulletin interrupted my evening ritual. Apparently there had been a fire and its only survivor was a young boy.

Without many words it was easy to discern that this child had lost his family and he was full of despair for losing those he loved so dearly. That is when the tears came. It was not the tears of empathy; it was the tears of regret.

Had the fire come to visit me, there would be no one whose eyes filled with tears like the eyes of this small boy.

I Will Not Forget You!

Dimly lit was the room in which I stood.

The portrait was etched electronically on a plastic credit card

She was a beautiful little girl, one of so many, one of millions.

And then it hit.

I had to separate myself from myself

As emotions from deep within began to swell

Emotions flooding as I held back the tears.

Nearly unable to do so.

She was a princess, a true and genuine beautiful little princess

With a smile so pure and full of life.

She looked like my daughter, that was what struck me like a bolt of lightening and caused me to quiver in the depths of my being.

If she was from Poland, I literally said to myself…I will lose it.

There will be no holding back.

Reality and fantasy danced and intertwined in some strange divine connection.

She looked like my daughter, if she was born in the land of my people I will lose it.

And then the truth presented itself, it was as I had feared.

She was from Poland.

She was among the missing.

She was among the brutalized, dehumanized, tortured and beaten.

She was among those many children that were robbed of life.

She was one of many.

Reva Grabo,

I now know what weeping is.

It is being filled with tears, filled completely

and holding them back.

At those moments that they break through; whether lightly or in a flood,

it is in this moment, this moment itself,

that weeping finds its name.

Reva Grabo

I have wept for you!

And I will carry you forever in my heart.

Butterscotch

I used to like butterscotch.

You know those individually wrapped candies that are often found in the candy dishes of old people.

My grandmother used to keep them in her purse and I always loved it when she would give me one.

I think that I like them because all of the other hard candies were not individually wrapped; they seemed old and worn like their keepers.

Sometimes you would grab for one of these candies and the whole dish would join them in their escape. Somehow they always managed to stick together. Perhaps it was the moisture in the air.

I think I will quietly sneak out of the house and find an establishment that is able to make a good old fashioned butterscotch sundae. With the whip cream and cherry on top.

Never mind, the feeling has passed.

When was the last time you had butterscotch?

Doughnut Bags and Circle K

FOLD DOWN TOP TO HELP KEEP BAKED GOODS FRESH,

AS AN ADDITIONAL SERVICE TO OUR CUSTOMERS,

YOU CAN REUSE THIS BAG AS A LUNCH BAG OR

FREEZER BAG AND IT REPELS “SOAK THROUGH.”

Life’s Hidden Message

Morning coffee

Grab a doughnut

Monday morning has arrived…

Just so that you keep it simple

Fold it in and keep things fresh

Morning coffee

Grab a doughnut

Tuesday morning has arrived…

Fresh baked goods on the agenda

Cinnamon with soft warm icing

Morning coffee

Grab a doughnut

Wednesday morning has arrived…

Fill the tank and wash the windows

Customers wait for your service

Morning coffee

Grab a doughnut

Thursday morning has arrived…

Things half done enter awareness

Finish now or put away

Morning coffee

Grab a doughnut

Friday morning has arrived…

Twiddle thumbs and dream of sleep

Make your escape, the work will keep.

Sweet Grass Sundays

The Mesa Storytelling Festival was a brilliant gathering this year, as always…but a funny thing happened on my way home.

Instead of turning right where I normally would, I stayed the course until I heard the sounds of drums and laughter.

The drum circles were magnificent.

So many people traveled so far…yet it is the unnoticed events such as these that so very often occur in our own backyards.

This time it was not I who was paying attention. The universe just reached out, reminded me of places I had been, and gently asked me to stop and pay my respect.

Unplanned stops are often the start of a great adventure.

My daughter held my hand and I told her the story of her great grandmother. I explained to her the significance of the word regalia and that the representations of one’s culture, family, and spiritual quest are beautifully unique for each and every dancer.

She had listened to the sounds of similar drumming coming from my office as I put her youngest brother to sleep at night. It was even her idea to put stars into the night sky. Now it had a context. We smiled together and watched with wonder, with awe, with respect.

We ate fry bread with honey and powdered sugar.

She chose a bracelet that was beautiful like her. I chose some sage and an abalone shell.

There was no sweet grass to be found.

Do you have any for me?