Thursday, May 9, 2019


The air smells sweet and inviting as I open the patio door to let in the breeze. Freshly mown grass. Blossoming honeysuckle. I walk across the lively green clover masquerading as grass in the island of the parking lot and make my way past the swimming pool. Laborers are working on it... restoration and repair. Hopefully it will be done for the holiday weekend coming up at the end of May. 

At the far end of the courtyard surrounding the pool I make my way up a concrete stairway. I continue heading north for a block or so before turning east and looping through the neighborhood on Peace Haven, then south on Sappington Barracks Road, turning west again and heading home along Barracksview… my one-mile loop. The smell of honeysuckle comes and goes as I walk, my eyes enjoy the blooming color of delightful flower gardens, bushes accentuating well-manicured lawns, the intriguing 5 3 1 of the numbers identifying the house painted on metal buckets overflowing with fresh growing things! I think of my daughter and her husband, their house, something clever … though 3 1 3 2 will be four buckets and that even number is just not as appealing. I tuck the crumpled idea away for another time. My daughter and her husband are already gathering ideas that inspire. My gardening, painting, mulching, porch decorating days are behind me. I walk on. 

On my right is the blue house, its magnolia tree fully green now, having dropped its magnificent blooms some weeks ago. I pass under a towering oak tree and am reminded of the trees of my childhood. The evening is a warm and inviting 79 degrees, which (to a girl from Wisconsin) feels like mid-summer… not spring, not the first week of May… Summer! Returning to the apartment, I open my patio door wide to welcome the breeze. 

I am restless… weary of the required reading for the real estate licensing exam and the self-imposed foray into a Cloud and Townsend book on boundaries and motherhood. I put down my highlighters –- yellow for the boundaries book; yellow, pink, green to organize the seemingly endless minutiae to be memorized for the real estate exam. I rise from my chair, stare at the wall calendar and contemplate… when do I want to take the exam? Resignation to the keeping of my promise takes me to the computer and soon I am scheduling. 9am May 17. $62 please. 

Well, that's a stretch. Please was not displayed on the screen. 

I exit the exam vendor page and log in to my real estate email. I add the appointment to the online calendar I share with the broker who employs me as her assistant and note the expense in the register of my checkbook. 

As I commit to taking the next step all that I am doing-pursuing-experiencing brings images of a Spirograph attempt gone awry, or skeins of yarn twisted and knotted, the colors endlessly intersecting. 

I put my fingers to the computer keyboard and type chaos-yarn-tornado and a few other words seeking an image that speaks to the current state of me.  

As the setting sun abandons the sky, a gentle rain begins to fall. In the quiet of this night I breathe in the damp freshly washed air and embrace the immutable widowed sadness within me. 

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