washwords

Welcome readers, today in honor of a verrrrrry special birthday girl, I feature this bit o hillarity from my pal and yours, Soupy Meg!

Dear fellow rush-hour motorists: « Soup Is Not A Finger Food

Dear horn-honking, minivan-driving dad:

I know you thought that if you honked your horn, that car at the front of the line would realize that the green arrow was all his and stop holding up the turn lane. But seriously dude? You were five cars behind him. There’s no way the front driver heard you. The guy directly in front of you did, though, for sure, and I’m sure he was all, WTF, like there’s anything I can do about it!….

(Wanna read more of what I’m readin’? Clickity click on over to to right and check out the “I’m reading” box or just go here.)

I’ve never really been a girly girl. God knows I’m no tomboy (that would imply being sporty, which I am not) but ribbons, make-up, heels, shopping? eh.

Likewise for jewelry. It’s not that I don’t spoil myself or like the finer things but… spas and five-star hotels are more my weakness than flashy fashions or gems.

Usually.

When I was married, I came to love the sparkly diamond. I missed it when it was gone. But it, much like I probably was to my then inlaws, was a curiousity. I never fully understood or recognized it. It wasn’t fully me. People would tell me it was big or it was a particular cut and I would stare back, “mmm?” I had no words, no expertise in this arena.

pink by Peter on flickr

So it was a surprise that this time around, I’ve been dreaming diamonds. Pink diamonds. Pink like the color, not of the sunset but of the glassy sea in the twilight of the shore. I didn’t even know such a thing existed (till, blush, I looked it up and found it). I’ve dreamed the platinum antique setting – delicate, wiry, dreamed the bliss of it on my finger and the serenity of real, profound joy.

There is some sadness in joy, my wise friend “A” told me on that other long-ago wedding day. And behind this glassy pink sea is sorrow, too. I am sorry that I didn’t know how to love like this before, sorry that I didn’t know that than, or know at least enough to say I wasn’t ready. I am sad that gold and big didn’t ever fit me right, though I wanted desparately to meld with that ring.

I mourn the lives we didn’t create together, the one that flickered in shared laughs, late-night talks and true, real friendship. And I hope, deep in the core of my being that you are finding your own glassy pink sea and that it is smooth and sparkly and sacred. I hope it suits you and brings you the surprising joy my dreams of pink diamond oceans have brought me. Mine is a joy of lessons learned, rock-solid friendships, love hard found and yet as comfortable as that warm sea, as ancient and as deep.

Thank you.

I wrote poetry in bluegreen notebooks:

“ Dependent, from Latin,

meaning: to hang from

So tonight I am wondering:

Do I hang from you? “