Archive for August 2011


Rushing

August 13th, 2011 — 1:10pm

So many things happen every day.  I want to remember them, but without time to write, I can’t.  So many moments lost, but does it matter?  I’m not sure.  I lived them anyway.

My brother comes to visit for two nights and very late we sit out on the beach watching the sky.  Quietly, for the most part.  There is heat lightning.  Three weeks ago already?

It is hot, hot, hot, and after work we all go swimming.  Amelia, Becky, Rick, and me.  It takes a long time to work myself all the way into the water.  Amelia is a little faster than me, Rick is slowest of all, and Becky amazingly runs right in and dives with a great courageous splash that I admire.  Sallie watches for a while, trotting back and forth on the shore, and then she seems to give in and swims out to find us, her long spaniel ears splayed out on the water.  There are stars bright in the black sky.   Way back in mid July.  Another lifetime.

I rush out the back door on a mission to the shed to retrieve something we need–paper cups, or napkins maybe–and gasp when I seed my pumpkin plant in his pot by the door has a yellow gold flower.  When did this happen?  I’m so excited that I take time to find my camera and take a picture (and I don’t have this many extra minutes, I hardly sit down to eat a meal), and I have every intention of writing about it.  But then the day roars up to grab me again and before I know it, it’s midnight and I’m too tired to write anything.  Already this is more than a week ago.

The galleys of PRAIRIE EVERS arrive in the mail and I’m thrilled.  Here it is, it’s turning into a real book. I pull the rubber band off the bundle of pages and for a moment revel in the fact of it.  But then the awareness of time nudges at me and then shoves, and I snap the rubber band back on and nestle the manuscript back in its padded white envelope and set it gently on my desk to be looked at later, when I’m not in a rush, and that was–last Wednesday?

Steve and Karen show up for lunch unexpectedly from Marquette and I throw my arms around them–a treat!  Just after the Fourth of July.

Laura says, about running sled dogs, “It takes a certain kind of patience.  You have to be willing for things not to work out because they almost always don’t.”  My head snaps up.  I’m so tired I’ve had to take my glasses off (and for whatever reason, this is a sure sign of extreme fatigue in me).   Even so, she has my complete attention.  She has said this quietly, thoughtfully, working it out as she speaks.  For the rest of the night I think about what she said.  Last night.  And I am determined not to lose this particular moment.

I sleep so hard at the motel in the Soo after the Gaylord reading that I wake up with no idea where I am or what day it is, or what’s next, and this not knowing for a moment, this utter void,  is a vacation.  Only eight days ago, but it seems like forever.

Rick and I drive to the end of the point so we can hear WNMU Marquette on the radio and listen to Linda Wertheimer talk to me about SOUTH OF SUPERIOR.  The water is dark blue and the sun is shining and it’s summertime.  I’m tired but happy, thrilled–a big life event.  July 17th.  A million things have happened since then, but that time in the Jeep sits very still in my memory.

April the cat has worked hard to forge a cave for herself out of two pillows on the spare bed and lies inside it, just her head peeking out.  Oh, April.  There was something so determined in her bustling about on the bed, and now something so content in her resting.  I just want to sit and look at her.  April and Sallie both.  Sallie is sprawled out on the floor at my feet.  I need more rest, and watching them rest for a moment is as close as I’m going to get.  This is–now.  It’s almost nine a.m.  I have to go to the bank.  Pay bills.  Make more Cole slaw.  Etc.

And so another day begins, and by night it will mostly be a blur, but as it happens I’ll pay attention.  I’ll do that at least.

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