Monday, December 6, 2010

notes to myself

Since falling a few weeks ago
I'm finding it more difficult
than it usually is
to put myself
back together again...

This was the first time
I fell on my back
and I banged my head
in the bargain...

As I patiently rest and wait
I've been making an unusual amount of notes
to myself...

It seems like when you're not doing very much
there are an improbable number of things
that you need to remember to do...

There's the magnetic list on the frig:
things to be bought at the market,
the pharmacy, Target, the bookstore...

The little cube of paper squares by the phone,
the one that's so pretty when you choose it,
that day by day whittles down
until you don't remember the design on the sides...
that's where I write down all the calls...
the calls to be returned,
the calls that need to be made,
the appointments that need to be scheduled
and rescheduled...

I also have coloured index cards...
I write things that are important to me on them
and pin them on the bulletin board above the computer...

I have a green one pinned there now
with a Chinese Proverb on it:
Your life begins
when you plant a garden...

My own garden has had a few sad seasons...
The weather has been erratic
I've been distracted physically,
emotionally... and so I've been neglectful...
Though I've been disappointed
by the loss of plants I nurtured;
I've also been happily surprised
by the strength of others
as well as the delightful appearance
of those plucky little volunteers...

A quick aside to those who do not garden...
Volunteers are seeds that sprout like
will of the wisps, here, there and everywhere
in your garden...carried by the wind, birds, insects
they are uncanny, magical and reaffirming...

There is a purple index card pinned above the computer too.
On this card I wrote:
A person who sees radiance where others see objects...poet.

Beside my bed I have a tiny note pad
beautifully embossed with the image of a butterfly
that my daughter brought me from Sedona...

Maybe because of where I keep it
or possibly because of the evocative way it looks,
this is where I write all the little things...
dreamy things, whimsical, illusive, intangible, wishful things...
but I also write some big, loopy, crazy things here,
things that pinch me on the inside until I get them out...

This is where I scribble in purple ink,
I want to live my life as i dreamed it...

My heart is fragments, stained with tears...

I want to scream until someone really hears me...

why is it so difficult to make a difference?

There are even sticky notes on the desktop of my computer.
I haven't started leaving myself notes there...
although just the other day I found one...

I love you, Gramma, Ethan

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