Click on photo to enlarge. This is a sculpture from my garden photographed by Gloria as part of her daily assignment while staying with me. She says she may resume her photography when she goes home as she hasn’t done it for some years. Lucky for us.
Though we’re at day 14 of Gloria’s assignments, we’ve fallen a bit behind in posting her daily photos so I’m just labeling them as I post them. She’s going home tomorrow but perhaps she’ll continue to post. This batch is very intriguing. Click on photos to enlarge.
photo by Jason Briscoe on Unsplash, used with permission
The Drying of Sheets in the Wind
When the world seems in a mess and you wax sanctimonious, railing at the ills of those who make it less harmonious, remember that life’s curses are only temporary. When world events eat at your mind and the world feels scary, remember bed sheets on the line, drying in the sun— the sound of flapping in the wind as their drying was done.
The smell of bright clean sunlight on each wind-softened fold, or the cracking of their ice crystals stiffening in the cold.
Remember their warmth around you, fresh from mother’s mangle? Snapping them out in the air, her bracelets’s harmonious jangle? Her even movements folding them, then spreading them once more for you to slip into your bed as she stood at the door, storybook in hand for that nightly big procession through story after story, read in that grand progression of venturings into a world that seemed so vast and magic, long before you knew the world to also be so tragic.
Let memories of your mother still be a comfort to you— with memories of fresh white sheets. And let them both renew you.
Amazing how empty the road from Jocotepec to Ajijic was in 1986. If you jump ahead to 20-24 minutes into the video, they drive up into the Raquet Club to within two blocks of where I now live. Just two lots undeveloped along Pancho Gonzalez now but back then only a couple with houses on them. The club and courts were there, though. This video was posted on YouTube by Rick Howe. Shown here with thanks to him and to okcforgottenman who brought it to my attention.
When I said I didn’t miss you, I admit that I lied. I didn’t get enough of you. I left unsatisfied. If you, too, detect a movement in your stone cold heart, perhaps you could begin with a phone call as a start.
I didn’t mean to say it. You didn’t mean to scream. I’m willing to atone for it by any means you deem. Breaking up is hard to do but staying mad is harder. I spend way too much time in bed, too much time in my larder.
I’m gaining weight and losing hair, burst into tears repeatedly. I fly off the handle and insult my friends most heatedly. So I propose our meeting via taxi, boat or plane. Our last tryst was insufficient. It didn’t heal the pain.
If you’ll come out of hiding, then I will do the same. If you’ll agree to meet with me, I’ll even take the blame. You’ll be right and I’ll be wrong. I’ll take the higher road. The digs that I once took at you will produce the motherlode.
Once you’ve taken the center out of your strawberry with the soda straw, please don’t dispose of the straw. You can buy these tiny brushes especially created for cleaning out both small and large soda straws. If you already have plastic straws, use them to death. I’ve used the same dozen straws for over a year now. Soaked and brushed out in hot soapy water and rinsed, they are as sanitary as any other dishes you use over and over.