there were things i didn't take pictures of.
the streetlamps topped with sage green covers,
pinholed to loosen the light softly into the night.
the blue stop signs.
the balloons tied to the street sign to point the way,
mapquest and google saying no route possible from here to there.
funny things, maps; perhaps there really wasn't -
perhaps we each had to find our own way, make our own map,
one that ended in the same place, but looked totally different to each of us.
i didn't take pictures of the key limes
or the homemade chocolate chipotle truffles,
or the heart shaped pebble
in the path leading from the house to the beach
or the little ballerina outside in the wednesday cold.
i didn't take pictures of conversations around the kitchen island
or at the kitchen table
and i didn't take pictures of words illuminated by candlelight.
i have to remind myself to pick up the camera and so often i don't.
but this time, in addition to no pictures,
i have no words.
they're out there, i know they are.
hiding.
tricky.
elusive.
it was a long drive back, longer than i'd anticipated,
bumper to bumper traffic across southern louisiana,
but no meals, just gasoline stops,
a lot of silent no-radio or no-cd time,
just the sound of the road beneath me at 70 mph.
a lot of thinking time,
a lot of wondering how to put into words this story of florida,
the true tale of anxiety i promised to tell.
i crossed the texas state line in the dark
and yeehawed into the silence of the jeep;
an hour later i stopped at work to nuzzle lilycat's neck,
and a few minutes after that i was home,
into bed,
where i stayed for 24 hours.
i don't know what to say.
i don't.
all i can think of is that i have never, in my whole life,
spent much time with "just women".
never.
i thought about that through 5 states and almost 13 hours,
and i formulated no sentences, no phrases, no nothings.
and i don't know what i think about that.
it is a different energy, that all female energy;
i grew up with no sisters,
grew up never having a group of girlfriends,
not in that sex and the city way.
i don't tell all to the girlfriends i have now.
those few days on a cold beach were a first for me -
the only man i spoke to was a waiter one day at lunch.
and michael on the phone at night,
michael who i missed in a way i've never missed before.
i am home now
and there are dogs running in the rain through the front yard,
and the heater won't stay on
and there is laundry to do
and my life returns to me as i know it,
but not really.
it will take some time to find the words.
i feel changed, and if that sounds melodramatic, well, so be it.
i do.
i feel like parts of me were left behind.
somewhere on highway 10, or maybe 12.
some of those parts i found again
headed at-last-north through louisiana,
but some are gone forever.
and it scares me. change aways does.
but suddenly i feel the need to cook
(thank you laurie)
to have a needle and thread in my hand
(thank you
deb).
i look at fabric differently,
and i think i can at last glue paper to a page
without thinking it is gone forever.
thank you
kim.
i took with me on this journey a silver heart from
katie,
one of elaine's
little birds,
the words
new focus tucked under a wing.
i took a broken strand of freshwater pearls from my friend lulu,
a picture of lilycat on my phone,
the memory of maggie the cat in my heart
and a
message from graciel tucked into my purse.
talismans.
good luck charms.
i brought back beach sand and new friendships
and a much softer heart.
i look at my picture on
beth's blog
and i look tired and shy and scared.
nervous.
i can see i'd been pushing my hair back over and over.
a little girl again learning to step outside.
(thank you beth.)
i had wonderful teachers.
thank you all.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~