Woke up this morning thinking about why someone might like to fall in love with me. I mean, what does that come down in this world? It's what we have to offer. It's what we give each day to each other, to the person you pass on the street, to the gas station attendant, to the little kid in the park who stops at the top of the slide because she sees you and your big dog coming across the grass. I love my cats. God, that's corny. But you would know what I meant if you saw B.C.'s missing eye and if you felt Momo's paw on your arm. Enough about the kitties, it's overload at the first word if it's about someone else's kitties. Very good advice: never, ever tell people cat stories. Their faces will be the picture in the dictionary next to
"and then his eyes glazed over".
Next? I am nice to the person on the street. I smile, say, "how ya doin", sometimes they want to talk about the dog and we stop and talk for a while. I like these connections, I like finding out what's behind the guy's lined and crinkled face at the gas station. It was a Full Serve out on route 63, I barely knew what to do when he approached my car. He was full of friendly remarks, he spoke as if he was talking to himself about the cars he was working on, the hot rods he was restoring, and I was just lucky enough to be in on the conversation. He commiserated with me about having to put in a new transmission, he really paid attention when I asked him not to top off the gas tank, he loved the 1956 hood ornament on the hood of my Toyota, he nearly apologized for the final total as if he were paying out of his own wallet, "gas is crazy these days", he said, "...gotten so high!" You could fit dimes in the creases on his face.
What else? Does baking really well count? I know all those Betty Crocker tricks of measuring a level cup of flour, not overmixing the biscuits, switching the cookie trays around in the oven so they cook evenly, knocking on the bottom of a loaf of bread to see if it's done, really gently folding in the beaten egg whites so the final product comes out high and lovely, carefully flouring and papering the cake tins so the cake doesn't get stuck. Using quality ingredients helps, but honestly, people can't always tell.
I can sew. I'm good at this... I can make a dress, a shirt, a skirt, simple or complicated but I can't guarantee there won't be tears (as in the kind that needs a box of Kleenex) before the more complicated items are completed. That's allright, one of my favorite stories about my mother is from when she was young and making a dress with a kind of collar that my grandmother had tried to advise her against. That evening the dress came flying down the hall, having been hurled out of the room by my mother, furious that my grandmother was right and the collar really did look awful.
I can make curtains, pillows, and dollies. That's dollies, not doilies. My sister did give me an antique tatting tool for Christmas last year and I love it, but I'm not sure I'll really take up tatting. That's what it's called when you make doilies. Dollies on the other hand... pretty fun to make their bodies, I love how their arms and legs might look a little crooked and the best part is their faces... I'm never sure what their expression's going to be when I'm stitching their eyes, nose and mouth but then there they are looking at me earnestly when I'm done tying the final knot.
I can garden. Oh man, I love to do this. The dirt, the weeds, the flowers giving their all when they open up and they're asking for very little in return. The birds and butterflies who come to visit, does it get any better than this? And talk about forgiveness. I once worried to a neighbor of mine who'd been gardening for 30 years that a plant of mine was not going to make it through the season. She looked at me incredulously and said "dig it under! You can try again next year." What a relief.
And speaking of forgiveness, I'm very, very good at this. I don't have time to carry grudges around. Life is too short. As a matter of fact, life is fleeting.
