Saturday, September 27, 2008

the irony and the heat

Talking with J last night on a staticky connection, one made on our new jungle phone he excitedly tells me about the view in the picture he sent me, a view he thinks is better than the one we have right now. He's both dreamy and focused, all he sees are possibilities there, things to do and ways to create. He's hot and happy, bug infested and exhilirated and while I can listen it's hard to really see it but it feels real all the same. The village women, one in particular have risen to the occasion, she's invited him to dinner the past few nights down a dark dirt road to where lights softly glow. He sits among her family, cinderblock walls and the heat balancing the beans and rice with the undeniable feeling of welcome, of folks who have nothing taking the time to share what little they have with him.

Things are good so far, some things he'd envisioned aren't quite right but for the most part it's as it should be, he bubbles with talk of kindergarten and toucans, the things he cannot wait for us to see and I miss him and I don't miss him, he's where he should be and I'm catching up on my sleep and wrestling with my own personal jesus.

In shakier territory I've failed to grasp the opportunity within my last post, I sit idly by and watch it float away. She's leaving today and again I've done nothing, the mere thought of doing something causes me to fold on top of myself from the inside out. It's ironic and I know it, I have no problem fighting all day long for the rights of others, access to housing and a warm meal. I'll take on the system in the name of the cause I believe in but I can't seem to muster up that same passion for the one cause that entirely belongs to me.

I think I'll turn this off for the weekend, I'll enjoy the warm sun and the sweet taste of freedom, I'll find ways to conjure up the woman I used to know and want to make friends with again. It's not much, this distance is new but it's something I can manage and that alone is something enough.


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18 comments:

crazymumma said...

I am first. Sheeit.

The really awful me wants to fly my ass down there, take M and lock you two in a room without windows for a week.

All the while shouting thru the keyhole to just say something goddamit!

But in reality honey, I truly understand how difficult this must feel for you.

QT said...

I can just hear the excited babble on the other end while you lie on the bed, twirling your hair around your finger...as I said to someone else this week, on an unrelated topic, sometimes the macro is all you have. For you to just start thinking about it. Its a start.

Micro will come later.

painted maypole said...

oh, the excitement!

and oh... the tortured not knowing what to do...

flutter said...

perhaps the jungle will grant you perspective on mom.

thailandchani said...

The first thought I had when reading this yesterday (sometimes there's a pause between my reading and my commenting :) is that some things aren't meant to be "fixed". They come to us as lessons, usually involving our seeming need to control outcomes.

With your mom, it sounds like one of those times. It's a process - not an objective or a goal.

Let it go. It will take care of itself when the time is right.

~*

Amy Y said...

How exciting to hear about the jungle... I can't wait to hear from your perspective, too.

Hope things can somehow be resolved with your mom...

Thinking about you, Mama.

Susanne said...

I'm thinking about you too. And anything clever that I had wanted to write has flown out of my brain as I find myself nodding sincerely to what Chani wrote...

Deezee said...

Sometimes it's hard to speak if we don't think we'll be heard. For me that adds an extra layer. Don't know if that applies to you.

Nice to hear/see more about the next phase. Are you still enthused?

NotSoSage said...

I...don't know what to say. I (feel like I) tried for so many years to make things right with my mother and when I realised that becoming a mother myself did not help me to understand her - it only led me to question her actions even more - I decided that I couldn't try any longer.

For now, she is Mme L's grandmother. That doesn't mean I think that this is what you should do, or that I won't try again, only that I understand. I hear you. And I hope that, one day, she does too.

Kyla said...

I see my mother almost daily and I still can't talk to her. I mean, really talk to her. Anytime something real comes up, I'd quite like to run to my room and slam the door, maybe scream "You NEVER understand me!", too. I don't know what to say about it.

I'm so excited about your big adventure!

luckyzmom said...

I'm just sorry that you are carrying this sadness.

Gwen said...

Nice view! Maybe, from there, you'll be able to see other things more clearly.

hele said...

Sister, I wish I could say something that helps make sense of it all. I rally do.

Yet all I can do is love you fiercely from this side and hope that you find your way.

jennifer said...

Time and distance, a lot of distance... and sometimes things just aren't how we would have them be, you know? I feel for you

Expatriate Chef said...

I am sorry. Give yourself time to be ready, if you want to talk to her. It's hard enough being a mom, doing your job, facing a huge life change. It's enough, and if you weren't ready for that, too, that's just fine.

Take care.

Lucia said...

Mmm...yeah! Jungle fun. Beans, rice, toucans, and kindergarten. Sweet!

Maggie, Dammit said...

I want to Stumble and Google Share every single thing you write, all the time - but then I'd lose credibility, like students who hi-light every single word on the page so none of them stand out anymore, a blur of bright yellow. But that's how I feel. You are just so. damn. good.

bgirl said...

thinking of you and all that i can only imagine you are feeling. so much past, present and future.

b