||| via |||
I almost forgot my wallet on the check stand in Target yesterday. That was after I left the discount card for my skin cream (why is that stuff SO expensive?) in my car twice. I'd held idle conversation with the cashier like you do in the evenings when everyone's tired and trying to remember common kindnesses.
As I'd loaded my bags into my cart and started for the door, she called after me:
"Honey, you've forgotten your wallet! You need that dear girl."
I could feel the burn in my cheeks -equal parts embarrassed and frustrated. I bowed my head in gratitude. And she seemed to know, with the silence and the nodd.
"Honey, have you got somethin' goin' on?"
I told her no and smiled a half-hearted, sort of smile. Tried to chuckle for fear I'd cry my eyes out. Making a messy puddle of my stresses at the foot of her checkstand. But she knew it, she knew that I've got something going on.
I stood there -wallet in hand- still reeling from our last visit with Popsicle and the evidence that he is failing to thrive -slowly dying. He's thinner than I am and looks like he's made of sticks, not flesh. His head bobbles atop his body -a head looking so large I expect it to topple him over. And his neighbors are dying, there one day, gone the next, and it just makes life seem so fragile and fleeting.
I stood there -tucking that wallet safely away- thankful for the New Year, I was sad about all the fun and festivities being, finally, completely over. No more cheat meals or buzzed nights, no more sequin tops or lack of routines, no more sparkle lights or Christmas trees. And while I crave routine, it's hard to say goodbye, to see those trees naked and prone on the sidewalks, to know evenings will fall slowly around us.
I stood there -fixing my scarf tight around my neck- wishing I knew the answers to our timeline. Wanting to know when things will start and others will end, how our goals will measure up or fall short, what is happening to the whole wide world that has had tragedy slam in and break up the delicate dance around us.
I stood there -slowly turning my cart to go- thinking this is the promising New Year that was going to bring a blank slate upon which I could fashion a fresh start that looked like anything I wanted. I uncomfortably realized the something from the Old Year were coming with me into this blank space -heavy and laden with olden things. And, at the end of a red cash kiosk in Target, I knew that the promise of the New Year only laid ahead so beautifully because it was comfortable atop the mess of the Old.
I stood there -frozen and awkward among the bustling customers- slightly disappointed in the way the fresh blank whiteness carried by the Ghost of Yet to Come only looked lovely because of the muddled heap being dragged begrudgingly by Ghost of That Done Passed. The two Ghosts so comfortable next to one another, reminding me that future promise is accentuated by the past taken for granted.
I moved -slowly, tepidly- towards the automated doors. And I was thankful for my somethings. Yes, I've got something, a whole lot of things, going on. Nothing new, or surprising, or wild, but just so much. And it makes me hungry for later and for what's to come and all the timing and control. But it's slowed my roll, made me look at the here and the now, birthed the Ghost of Life in the Present in my heart. And so, the rush, the hustle, the constant busy bustle: that's not what this life and living thing is all about.
Yes, I've got somethin' goin' on.
And so do you.