When You Wish Upon A Star


A falling star at that.

I saw the glowing ember descending heavens above me as I rode my bicycle home through the cold air of the park, I immediately wished.

Love and sobriety.

I wish for love.

I wish to stay sober.

Those have pretty much been my wishes for over the last few years and as I sneak closer to a decade of time I am again overcome by a feeling of wonder and awe at where my life has taken me and the things that I have gotten to do.

I suspect that there is more to come.

I used to wish with obsessive habit on the first star of the evening.

Or the new moon, as seen over my left shoulder.

I almost always would look up, up, up, scanning the still glowing horizon after the sun had set over Twin Peaks, searching for that first evening star upon which I would wish.

I wish for sobriety.

It’s a wish that has been granted every day now for a little bit of time.

It’s not the wish I thought I would be making when I was a little girl and heard about wishing on the first star of the evening.

Star light.

Star bright.

First star I see tonight.

I wish I may.

I wish I might.

Make the wish.

I wish tonight.

I wish to stay sober.

The wish is a good wish to make.

For with it come all manner of good things.

I would not have the life that I live or the principles I live by without having been granted this wish.

I used to wish for money, fame, notoriety (I mean, perhaps not consciously, but I like the idea, even still of being notorious), love, but not the kind of love that I get in spades every day, I was fantasizing about a type of romantic love, someone who would sweep in and save me from myself and my crazy life.

I like my crazy life today.

It’s much more sane than one would think.

Jam packed with stuff too.

I was sitting in a room, listening to wisdom and experience and solution and my eyes closed and I could have just drifted right off.

Today was a full day.

Lots of cooking and laundry, parks, three different park outings, one run to Lucca Ravioli, two runs to the Whole Foods Market on Valencia Street (which is not a Whole Food Market at all, but a little mom and pop where the owner and the clerks know me and the boys by name), cooking for the house–today I made turkey meatballs and spaghetti, a big salad, and steamed cauliflower with olive oil and garlic, picking up some tailoring from the laundrette, a trip to the Eco Center on 17th, and the normal nap time, snack time, lunch time, dinner time, bath time routine of the boys.

Let’s add to my day an hour and a half bicycle commute.

Aka my urban gym routine.

I always get a good giggle when I see ladies at the park doing the boot camps.

Listen, I want to tell them, get a job that is a half hour to 45 minute commute on bicycle, there’s your cardio, then add hauling around a 2 and a half-year old for legs and upper arms, and finish with pushing a double stroller about the Mission with a four and a half-year old in tow for stamina and strength training.

You’ll tighten up real quick.

I promise.

In addition to the commute, I got up early and yes, I wrote.

I mean, I always write and I am writing now and I am happy to be making a concerted effort to be doing the writing, but I really am seeing how important it is to keep me balanced and in good harmony with the world about me.

How it lets me observe things that I would not necessarily see if I was buried in social media or surfing the internet all day.

I would miss out on observing the life about me.

Like the sun reflecting off the back windows of the house behind my in-law in the morning.

I don’t have much morning light, but the western facing windows of the neighbors at a certain time each morning, reflect into my studio a blaze of warm golden sunlight.

This morning I was sitting, eating my oatmeal with pink lady apple chopped up into it and wild blue berries, sipping my pour over Stumptown coffee (no Holler Mountain today, the store was sold out, but I tried a new blend that might make a run for the money shot–Indonesia Bies Penantan–clove, white pepper, cola, prune, and brown sugar accents) and the light blew up the spider plant I have hanging in the corner with the most beautiful light.

The plant was glowing and shimmering and almost transcendental with light.

That’s God, I thought.

I mean, everything is God, in my opinion, but that was a special God shot indeed.

Every home I have had, since I have had a home in which I have consciously chosen to decorate and nest in, since I was a sophomore in high school and took over the big room in the house in Windsor, has had a spider plant in it.

I have changed and I continue to change, but there is an epicenter of myself, a core being that has a lot of little tiny nuisances that have stayed with me down the years.

I still wish upon stars.

I still sing along to the lyrics on the radio.

And sometimes I actually know the lyrics to said songs.

I still dance like, mostly, no one is looking.

I still like to write.

Hopefully the writing has gotten better, but I do know that there is voice, a persona, a verbosity, or tendency toward, that I have always had, I can see it here and there and it speckles my writing like the stars in the warm summer sky over the orchard when I used to walk back there in the grass at night, longing for something that I knew not what it was.

Love.

And sobriety.

They are both the same thing.

I couldn’t have one without the other.

I’ve been wishing on stars for a very long time.

It was only recently, though, that I realized.

I have been given my wish from the very first time I wished upon a star.

Falling or otherwise.

My wish has always been heard.

I am loved.

 

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