Posts Tagged ‘plum’

It’s Not Time

July 16, 2017

To write this blog yet.

But.

Well.

It wants to be written.

Even though I opened up my WordPress site and sat and stared at the blank screen and thought, I don’t have a thing to write about.

Denial.

I should fold my laundry and put it away.

I will wash my dinner dishes.

So instead of starting to write I got up and put my laundry away and I did the dishes.

I even pre-emptively filled the kettle for a cup of tea after I finish writing.

I know, hot tea, sounds excruciating to think about in July, but it’s July in San Francisco, I’m in bunny slippers and thought for a minute about turning on the heat.

It’s chilly here in July, unlike anywhere else.

Although there was some warmth in the city today after the fog lifted and I got out of the Outer Sunset, I even put on a little sunblock just in case.

Anyway.

I digress.

It was when I was filling my kettle that I realized that I was avoiding the elephant in the room.

Or the plum, as the case may be.

I bought a plum today.

A beautiful, gorgeous, fat black plum.

I’m not a big fan of plums.

I mean, they’re nice and all, but I wouldn’t typically choose to buy a plum, not really my thing.

A persimmon?

Get the fuck out of my way, I’m buying them all.

But a plum?

Nope.

But.

Ugh.

I usually buy one around this time of year.

And it’s not because it’s stone fruit time.

I want stone fruit I eat cherries.

I love cherries.

Or.

Yellow nectarines.

So good.

Not the white ones, only the yellow, and not peaches.

I know, what kind of monster am I?

I don’t like the texture of skin on a peach and the fruit is typically too soft for me, I know friends who would kill for a perfect peach.

Me?

Not so much.

But.

There I was at Gus’s Community Market on Harrison and 17th in front of the plums and I saw it and just reached for it.

My heart in my throat.

Tears prickling my eyes.

I picked out the biggest, prettiest plum in the pile.

I thought about him.

I wrote a story about it once upon a time, a children’s story, about sharing.

I called it “Shadrach and The Plum.”

It was about a little boy and how he shared his most precious treat, a big juicy sweet plum (insert some ee cummings here and an icebox please) with a little girl at school who had forgotten her lunch.

He sat down next to her with his brown paper bag and saw that she had nothing in front of her, her parents had sent her to school with no lunch, he thought to himself as he took the food out of his paper sack, “I’ll share my lunch but not the plum, plums are my favorite, she’s can’t have my plum.”

He asked her, “do you want some of my lunch?”

She nodded eagerly and pointed to what she wanted, “I want the plum.”

He didn’t say a word, he just handed it to her and ate his peanut butter sandwich and drank his milk.

I heard about her later when I read the story I had written to his family.

In hindsight I don’t know if it was the best idea, they were still grieving, it was their first Christmas without him and here I was some girl from San Francisco wearing flowers in her hair and her heart on her sleeve reading a story about lessons we learn from our friends.

Because.

Well.

Shadrach was like that.

He would give you what you needed without question.

I might get teased about it later, I might be razzed, but he always saw me so much clearer than I saw myself.

His death anniversary is coming up.

Sigh.

Ten years now.

And sometimes it still feels like I’m in that ICU at General holding his hand, or in my room on in that crazy old Victorian on Capp and 23rd, sobbing my heart out into a pillow as I prayed and prayed and prayed to God.

I knew better than to ask God to save Shadrach, I pretty much knew he was gone, I never said boo about it, I never tried to change anyone’s mind about their hopes and I certainly did not express any of my doubts about him waking up from the coma to his family, I just kept showing up and asking them what they needed, put I kept asking God to help me through it and the only way I knew how was to not focus on myself.

How can I be of service?

I was brought up that way, in my recovery community.

“How do I do this?”  I called a friend who had just lost a mentor, a man who had 43 years of recovery and who I also knew quite well, the past week.

“You show up and help his family and you ask ‘how may I be of service?’ and you help them that way, and that’s how you get through.  And through you will get.”

He told me how brave I was and how much he loved me and that I could hang in there.

I did.

And I do.

I still hang in there.

I still show up.

I saw that damn plum and almost cried, but as a reminder that I get to live today I bought it.

I did what I needed to do today and I went where I was supposed to go and when I saw someone in my community who was losing it over the recent loss of our young mutual friend tonight, well, I held her hand and I didn’t let her run out of the room.

I just held her and hugged her and hugged her more until she got all the sobs out.

“You don’t do this alone,” I told her, “don’t run out.”

“I can’t handle all this death, it’s too much,” she said and tried to break away again.

I hugged her some more and then I told her some stories.

I told her about losing my best friend to a scooter accident, my best friend who was sober, who was committed, who was about to run the SF Marathon.

The same marathon that is about to be run here on the 23rd of this month.

The signs just went up by the park and I thought of Shadrach, I thought of how beautiful he was when he was running and how strong and graceful.

I thought of the last thing that I said to him, the best gift the moment, that moment when you realize you have to say something or regret it for the rest of your life.

Although, of course, how could I know?

“Shadrach, I just have to tell you, if I never see you again you have to know how beautiful you are right now, you are just glowing,” I touched his arm.

He raised an eyebrow at me and was about to say something witty and cryptic and instead he smiled at me and hugged me to him.

That was the last thing I said to him.

Well.

It was the last thing that I said to him when he was still coherent and not brain-dead in a hospital bed for a week before his family pulled the plug.

I shared my story.

And.

I told her about another woman we both know and how she lost her best friend on the day of his one year sobriety birthday, how he was hit by a bus coming home from his anniversary party.

I mean.

Fuck.

I told her she didn’t have to do it alone and that she was strong enough to shoulder it and that she was lucky, lucky that she got to feel the depth of love she felt for this person who just died a few days ago, that she could be grateful for the time she got to know him.

I hugged her again.

I’m a hugger.

And.

Told her to call me and lean in.

It’s not easy grieving and sometimes I felt like the sadness of Shadrach’s passing would never leave me, but it did.

Well.

That’s also not true, but it lessened, or I got used to it I suppose.

Although seeing that big purple plum sitting on top of a Mason jar on my kitchen counter brought it all home.

I still miss my friend.

He taught me so much.

Not just how to love.

But.

More importantly, that I was lovable and worthy of love.

A lesson that took many years to sink in.

But in it did.

So.

Tonight.

I will raise my plum to my lips and taste the sweetness and let my fingers be sticky with gratitude and love and memory and honor my friend and all the gifts he gave me, so many years ago now.

All the love he planted in my heart that has grown and flourished and bloomed.

All the things.

All the love.

And.

Always.

The best.

The sweetest, coldest, juiciest plums for you.

Always.

 

 

The Upside of Isolation

November 29, 2016

Happened today.

At work.

While the baby napped.

THE BABY FUCKING NAPPED!

Oh sweet, sweet Jesus, thank you God.

Oof.

I packed my school books this morning thinking why bother, but do it anyway.

And.

Oh.

So nice.

She slept for three hours.

Three.

It was a dream.

I had spent the morning at the house helping out by being there instead of going out to the park as they had a lot of deliveries coming in and the youngest boy was home from school.

I did not have him the entire day though, which also helped to facilitate the reading during nap time, Grandma came over and took him out for a long late afternoon lunch

Thanks Grandma!

“Are you the one doing all the tidying up?” She asked me when she dropped him off later in the day, waving at the spotless kitchen.

“Yes, happy to help out,” I said and nodded.

“You are a god send,” she concluded.

Thank you!

That’s always nice to hear.

Especially since I’m going to ask the family to write me a letter of recommendation for my practicum application.

I wasn’t able to address it today, too many things going on, but I will be able to on Wednesday.

“We’re going to cry, literally, on your last day,” the mom said today as the baby and I were blowing kisses at each other.

Oh!

I was so touched to hear that, such nice validation.

And.

“You’re the only person she likes better than me,” the grandma said in wonder as the baby hugged my legs and we played hide and seek.

So nice to hear all the compliments.

It’s nice to know that I leave my job better than I found it, sort of recurring thematic in my life, I wish to leave things better than I find them.

It doesn’t always work that way.

But.

It’s an awful nice feeling that just be being a bit proactive and energized I was able to help out the family, cook, clean, sort, facilitate the dog walker, the grocery delivery, and a furniture delivery.

Plus.

Get the baby down for a nap after feeding her lunch and still have almost three hours of quiet in the afternoon to read.

It was heaven.

And.

Oh.

Wait for it.

I finished!

I FINISHED!!!!

Oh my fucking god, I finished my reading for the next round of classes.

That is officially a first.

I am done with my reading for the last weekend of classes for the semester.

It feels so good.

So, so, so good.

Oh, I still have all the papers to write, but that will come and with extra time to navigate with them, the having the reading done is such a huge blessing.

My next weekend, the one coming up, I can focus on writing papers and getting myself prepped for the big Psychopathology paper.

I plan on writing two papers this upcoming weekend and I can take my time, devote a little every day to the Psychopathology paper.

If I had my druthers I would turn it in on my last day of class for the semester and then have nothing left to do.

Wouldn’t that be nice?

It might be a reach.

It might be a stretch.

But you know, I’ve been doing the yoga again, so who knows.

Heh.

Signed up for a class for tomorrow morning before I go into work.

It’s been nice having it in my routine again, even if I’m sore, it’s a good sore and it does seem to help with the general free-floating anxiety that I always have.

That anxiety has gotten so much better.

And now that I know I didn’t have a scratchy head due to stress, well, fuck, life’s a bed of fucking roses.

Heh.

And.

I paid my December rent and utilities tonight when I got home.

In cash.

That felt hella good.

I mean, real good.

It was also nice to hand my land lord a fat envelope full of bills.

I mean who doesn’t like that?

I’m doing pretty well with my finances for the month.

Very happy about that.

I got a little extra left over for Christmas gifts and some for traveling.

And possibly a new coat.

It’s going to be cold in Wisconsin.

Except!

Ha!

I just took out the coat I bought for Paris when I traveled there last winter–the time I had been there it was super cold, when I was living there and I didn’t invest in a decent jacket and so when I went back I made sure to have a nice coat.

A coat that doubled as dressy enough to go to the ballet as well.

Which was the only time I wore it out.

The weather was far warmer than anything I had previously experienced in Paris during December.

So.

Yes.

I have a coat, a nice dark plum swing coat with big black buttons and a flared collar and long sleeves that will do the trick quite nicely.

Yay.

And I was all bummed when I was out this early evening in between work and doing the deal I hopped into three, no, four, different stores in the Inner Sunset and found nada.

Not as though most stores in San Francisco are going to sell coats meant for a Wisconsin style winter.

I sort of figured I would be buying something mid weight to layer over my sweatshirts.

Nope.

Don’t need to at all.

My plum Paris swing coat is perfect.

I have to say, not a bad way to start my week.

Not bad for a Monday at all.

Super grateful for all the gifts in my life.

And I have a few.

Seriously.


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