From an Upper Floor

The Roses Are For You. . .

It was a new friend Jan who remarked that she knew I didn’t know we were different.   And I remember feeling hurt that again I was on the outside looking in and now my children were also outside the circle.  But as she continued to be my friend and my trust strengthened she pointed out things that were different.

One thing continually amazed her was that we talked; the boys and I talked.  She pointed out that most  young people did not talk to their parents.  But she said you actually sat at the table and talked to each other.  But since the husband and father was out in public doing what he did, I was the parent on premises.  And our conversations were enlightening to me.  They were good teachers.

I remember when a grandmother visited and I was on the phone to our eldest living away, when I hung up she asked what I found to talk about  since she and her son did not converse except tersely.  I was astonished at the question for there was never enough time to finish a conversation.  When I mentioned this to the eldest, he said  we have been practicing for over 30 years!  In a nutshell,  all the time, practice.

Individually the separation from peers began in kindergarten, with invisible friends we think  was what everybody had.  New insight, new knowledge, new subjects to pursue.  Trying this, trying that,  giving everything a try.  Making do with what was on hand was a prerequisite when money is scarce but ideas profuse.  Questions such as how did you know to do that?  Or how could you?. . .whatever you did.  Who showed you and where did you learn to? . . .whatever.

Some results were met with derision.  Some were met unbelievingly.  He was four when he looked up at the sky and saw contrails splitting and said with awe.. . like a zipper opening the sky!!!. . .the one with a pen.

He was only three when I saw him on the floor with the newspaper open to the stock page and asked him what on earth he was doing at six a.m.   He said I am checking my stock to see how I do. . .meaning he had been going to the mailbox on the road also in the dark to get the paper which frightened me more.

And the younger was hardly past a year with his father’s belt wrapped around him with tools from the kitchen as he climbed a tree.  A spatula, a serrated bread knife for a saw and some kitchen shears pointed down as tools should be in the belt of course and tongs for heaven knows what.    He was wedged securely in a Y branch.  I know-ed he said, I know-ed.

I had wished for a mother who understood what I did when I was an eight year old on the grass and willed the clouds to form mind patterns.  She could not understand this daughter who wasted time doing nothing she said.  When the boys were born I knew the kind of mother I wanted to be.  Enchanted years the writer son said.  Enchanted.

Embrace the differences I later wrote.  Embrace the differences and give evolution a run for the roses. This is what will clean up the detritus and keep the classroom alive.   And the responses have me on knees that bow to the Divine in us all that has continued to serve in spite, despite the inhumanity that threatened these differences;  good and faithful servant Thou Art.

(for my new readers and for those who needed to be reminded , I share again this vignette.  I wish you a joyous holy day. . .)

Do I have more minutes to finish? There was no time for answers because the little one with a dash was out of sight. In a few minutes he was back and announced, I finish. Having learned to wait while private things were finished, I waited again while he proceeded to his room.

I followed him shortly to find him in pajamas and ready to crawl into the high bed. Well, should it be a story to tell or a story to read I asked. I am ready for you to choose.

Tell me what it is we should do to get you ready for sleep? And I waited. Minutes ticked away while the choice was being made. Patiently, again, what will it be?

His face took on a faraway look as if searching for a memory. I recognized the look and wondered where he would go for that memory to take shape. I knew it well. It was a look that had been on my face many times with voices telling me to stop dreaming.  I needed to pay attention to what was at hand and not waste so much time dreaming.

So because of those reprimanding voices, I knew to wait.  He asked if I would sing the one I singed when I singed with other voices. He knowed that song!

What song is that? I wondered. There was no time for me to sing with other voices that he would have heard. Like this, he said and in his high soprano he sang his  Gllloooo oooooorrrrrrriiiiiiiiiaaaaaaaa and I knew.

Unbelievably I knew. The music hung on his tongue and in his throat as if he were tasting a delicate sweet.

When did you ever hear me sing that? I asked. Before I came to you, he said.  Before I came.  I heard you singed and my heart singed with you.

I knowed I could tell you some time if I just ‘membered it. I promised I would ‘member so I could hear it again and again. I knowed that you would ‘member if I singed it. And you do! he said, you do!

And I believed him because I gave up choir when he was due to be born. I took this child into my arms and sang the song he so wondrously remembered.

And when I came to the part he remembered his voice faithfully shadowed mine. And another posit was added to the Memory Bank but who would believe it? Who??????

Except the many someones who entered their place of belief every time they bent their knees.

Those are the who. . . .

There are posts  I have written that speak well to the present times.  I think for those who follow me there might be some understanding from these earlier writings.  There might be a moment when the thought comes, oh I see where she comes from.  I hope so.  For me it is a visit to a friend I have not seen in a long time.  And it is always a pleasure to read these vignettes.  I hope you enjoy them with some insight also to where my writing has led me.

The Lady Of The Blue Cloths . . .

Can we go today, he asked?  Perplexed, I looked at him and wondered now where since most of the errands were done that we considered a must.  Soon the holidays would be upon us.

To the lady with the blue cloths, he said.  To the lady who knows things.  And of course, I said.  You haven’t asked for a long time.  Because he said,  I knowed when I ask-ed the question!  And how, I wondered, but first we needed to get ready.

Soon we were on the way.  He was quiet and wondering his wonders.  I asked him again how he knew the answer when he just had asked the question!  He stuttered for a bit and  looked straight ahead.  You know, he said, when I ask-ed myself a question.  I wait and knowed I knowed the answer when I aske-ed the question.  Somehow,  pieces come into  places, he stammered,  like puzzles and I knowed that I knowed but I  had to  ask out loud.

I listened to this and still wondered.  But why then do we need to see the lady of the blue cloths?  Because he said, because.   Because it is almost time for the  Glooorrrriaaaaaaaaa time he said and I needs to find out from her some things she knows.   Her answers he said, not mine answers.

We were met by his friend at the door of the shop and she led us to her table.  She held his hand a minute and their hearts melded.  Why, she asked, are you wondering how to say it?  I am thinking he said, how you knowed what you knowed without asking questions out loud?

She touched his cheek.  Like you she said.  When I feel a light breath on my cheek or a warm hand on my shoulder even if no one is there,  I know my angel is.  And knows my question.  So by the time I put the question into words, the answer is in my heart.

I thinked that way so with me, he said.  I knowed you would know he said because I know too.  I think real hard and in my head  pieces like puzzle come together.  Angels are good friends,  real friends.  He got up to go.  Never afraid he said,  never afraid.  Angels carry blue cloths.  They say blue cloths good to wipe tears.  You have lots of angels here.  I come back just to see them?

Any time, she said.  With the holy days we have lots of them.  They follow me sometime he said, follow.  Never alone, I never alone.  She smiled at me in leaving and gave me her hand.  The warmth of it raced to my heart and I drew breath.  You are good for this one, she said.  You are good.

Charged,  himself and I floated home