The passing season has felt so long; as if it’s been ages since I could sleep with the window open and listen to the rush of wind. It reminds me of the ocean and waterfalls, which at once makes me both nostalgic of my childhood and my early twenties – which was in its own way a time of evolving. Part of my life was spent on the Atlantic searching for treasures with my siblings, wandering in loops of history I wouldn’t understand until I was too old for it to matter any longer. Then instead of wandering seashores, I found myself climbing mountains and resting at the foot of waterfalls, years before reality would clip my fairy-child wings.
The wind reminds me, the swooosh swoooosh against the screen and I wake to the warm sun and the chirping of birds rustling in the beginning blooms. My husband rests beside me, curled in the sunlight and for a moment it takes me back to a morning a few houses before this, when the room was swollen in pristine gold and is body lay unfurled like a god on black sheets. There are mornings he looks like he’s chiseled from marble, a live statue of Greek youth resting beneath Egyptian cotton. Sometimes I must wait until I can see him breathing before I slip out of the sheets. We’ve been together almost five years now, almost 20 years since I first laid eyes on him, and it still amazes me that he is there.
Yesterday I picked up The Birds of America by John James Audubon, it is a collection of prints of his illustrations, the first collection of them outside of the original seven illustrated collection that sold for 11.5 million dollars – the most expensive printed book sold at auction. They’re quite beautiful. I was delighted to get it at Barnes and Noble in the bargain aisle where my husband told me they would be. We read all the articles about the auction because we’d seen a piece about it on Antique Roadshow. When I stood at the counter to pay for them the cashier said, “I was wondering who would pick that up, an amazing find.” I wanted to say, “No one cares about art like they used to.” There are so many beautiful books about art and photography in the bargain aisles of bookstores because no one is purchasing them, so we do. We have lots of books of images and our little tot loves to flip through them. One of the many things I picked up from my husband, the appreciation for art. Although the memorizing adoration of birds at the moment probably comes more from this house. My husband stepped foot into a Wild Birds store a few weeks ago and came out with wild seed samples which led to me purchasing a bird bath on Amazon. There is something amazing about watching the flutter of red winged cardinals in flight. The color red is nothing phenomenal in and of itself, it’s just a hue, but I imagine what it must have been like to see such an extraordinary color when pigments were rare. I thought the image of Audubon’s Flamingo summed up the emotional quality of it, the image is striking.
|Flamingo – John James Audubon|
I awoke to reminders of work, soft white Microterry Ginger Slippers from Hush Puppies. I sliced open the package and slipped them on to make my coffee in comfort. It didn’t do much good in making my coffee pot work properly, but they are comfortable and I wondered what it would feel like to rest on a bed with the same plushness under open windows. Then I reminded myself I have so much work to do: dentists to call, medical bills to sort out, packages to drop off at the post office, vacuuming, dusting, laundry, etc. This evening I am going to the open house at the High-School to walk around with the other parents curious to see what the next year will be like for our 8th graders. It’s right across the street, which is perfect for my son because he can sleep a little later than 6:30 in the morning.
I’m almost finished reading Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children by Ransom Riggs, an incredible novel by a Blogger! He writes for my favorite magazine, Mental Floss. His blog ended with him being off writing Book 2 so I’m pretty excited the story isn’t over once I finish it relatively soon. It’s a great, very unique, world and I am always fascinated by stories that seem new and fresh. It takes away the humdrum monotony of what feels like reading the same book over and over. Plus, it’s written by a Blogger so it gives me hope in my current state of writers block.
That about sums up my morning. At some point I will have to wake up my little tot, who I’ve let sleep in late so he won’t be crappy this morning, and get myself around by grumbling over disappointing make-up that I’ve been too busy to replace. Waiting for my the call or paper that gives me an update on my B12 levels so I can hopefully stop taking shots. I’d like to imagine that a second opinion may clear me from my diagnosed Pernicious Anemia and yet I can already feel the effects of putting off my shots until the paper came in. Sometimes the pain and numbness (which are like coupling sensations) feel like live wires coming loose under my skin, sparking and swirling until the brain fog eats up my memory of them: but I want to have some hope – as ridiculous as it may seem.
|This isn’t fun.|
I want to curl back up with my imagined Greek god and sleep away the morning in the breeze, but Life waits for no one. The inevitable must come one way or another, at least I have coffee, very comfortable morning slippers and a nice book to idle until my little wrecking ball awakes.