I had moved, and still boxes and organization needed. Items stuffed in cardboard. Cardboard is the poor-man's safety deposit box. I had the feeling like I needed to just trash it all. On the other hand, there were so many wonderful things that I only needed a little nudge to recall. But, there's not enough room anywhere to store a whole life of tragedy and awesome. And in the grand scheme of humanity, it would only be precious to me anyway. The trash bin has been filled, over and over then. There is now some room to breathe and make new.
There are tons of intricate moving parts to a move. I noticed that the bill collectors didn't have any trouble finding my new address. Yes, they are the most important people I wanted to remember to tell where I had moved to. Thank you for taking care of that for me. I'm sure there are countless people and places I have forgotten to tell where I have gone to.
And the day to day living doesn't stop because you've moved. No, you still have to eat, shit, do stuff in a timely manner. Others may depend on you. No stopping...full speed ahead. Animals have it right. They make their homes out of crap they find on the ground, and when they move, they just leave it, and find new crap on the ground. Man, did we fuck that up or what?!?!!
I haven't even memorized the placement of the light switches yet. Finding a light switch has been a steady complicated thing in my life. How are I supposed to stop or create new when I can't find a fucking light switch?!?!!
I don't really like the neighbor's in the next house. They're white trash. And there are about nine kids living in the house of all ages. Their house is always loud. The kids yell, then the mother yells - when the dad is out of jail, he'll yell. Then someone cries, and there is more yelling. Usually followed my a slam of some sort, and silence for about thirty minutes, then it all starts up again. I don't really have to do anything to get them to leave. It's a rental. And soon enough they'll get caught for some infraction and kicked-out. It is a story that repeats itself fairly often. We all wait and ignore.
But, the baby from the teenage girl was three weeks old and passed in it's sleep. While, I don't like the group. I am not without heart. Those of us who were mothers stood in the street and talked about it. Much like chickens around a prime piece of feed. Yes, it was gossip. And some women were tsk-tsking about the dead baby and the family. I didn't really want to tsk-tsk. Some babies just die. And that was a very sad thing to anyone. I also didn't really want to super get involved. White Trash people have a ton of drama that I had long since climbed away from.
It was decided in the street circle that we would all take food. It is a tradition, and a bit of a necessity. I know when I have had to grieve in my life, I either forgot altogether to eat, or the idea of actually having to make food to eat became an insurmountable task. And I liked the idea of community, be it a somewhat strange collective community - a community nonetheless. Lists were made, times assigned, nods all around, and pattern broken to go forth.
I went to the store and got stuff. I'm not made of money, and I don't really know them. I got mostly frozen family meals, oranges and apples, some pre-made salad mixes and bread. And shit, there was so many of them already. I couldn't afford to feed them all, probably more than once. And I certainly couldn't take into account things like food allergies, likes and dislikes, etc. I thought the other kids might like some cookies, too...or a pie even. But, then I thought how ill-mannered that could be showing up with desserts for a dead baby event. Might be tacky. Although, I eat tons of sweets when I'm grieving. I didn't get any. I didn't even get any for myself, even though they all looked really good. I thought maybe that would be kind of tacky, too. Later I would realize that no one in the store would have known what occasion I was actually shopping for.
Lucky for me, another neighbor who knew them somewhat better, AND had actually prepared food (kind of a badass), went with me, and took the lead. After all, what was I really going to be able to say that would be of any comfort. "You don't know me, but, I'm sorry your baby died, here's a couple of casseroles." I didn't pray, so that was out, too. Yes, lucky for me, the other neighbor took the lead with all the I'm So Sorry's, the Stay Strong's, the We'll be praying for You's, etc. And I just nodded, hugged and awkwardly offered my bags of frozen delights. They were ALL in tears. And I felt compassion and sadness. Enough that I got tortillas to go with the enchiladas and garlic bread to go with the lasagna. No one deserves a day like that. And when it happens, we all know.
I returned to my land of boxes. Not even a baby dying made me stop. Nothing it seemed was to stop anything about anything.
We finally ran out of food at our own house. Maybe that was what happened. I really couldn't say what the trigger was. It was as though I woke up from a long sleep and was just slightly able to take in my surroundings. I just took into account that I needed to live here, in this place. I'm not sure how long I've been out. It seems like a very long time. And really I could recall much of where I had been.
I purposely made myself aware. I took a long shower, the water hot. I paid attention to the smells of the soap. I made the grocery list of all the things we needed, but also, stuff that I wanted. I drove to the store listening to the music I liked and didn't fight over a parking space. I choose to meander through the overly well lit store, with it's overly commercialized foods, and overly crowed people scrabbling to get to the best and brightest of all things. I was conscious of my choices. I didn't feel the need to get angry that the traffic light was out on the way home.
I put the tarragon chicken salad on the beautiful marbled rye slices. I noticed the colors of it all against my bright blue plates. I ate a small orange with my sandwich. Feeling not full, but just right. and my stomach would be thankful to go to work this day for the rest of my body.
I took my cigarette and hot tea outside. It was already night. The moon was bright. And the wind was warm and soft. The tree leaves were talking with the wind. My feet were secure on the ground, which was still hardened by winter. And yet, I was aware that I was on a rock, a giant rock - well, by my standards, hurling at a rapid speed through the cosmos. How tiny I was.
A neighbor's loud laugh came through the fence. I didn't hear the conversation over the tejano music to get the joke. On the other side, the white trash neighbor's had just finished screaming and the silence for thirty minutes had just begun.
I looked up to find Orion. I never seem to remember the others, only Orion. And we haven't jacked it up with trash so much that I can't find it or locate it. I don't know how long I stood there, it was awhile. It started to get cold and I went inside.
I wanted to sleep. I put on a nightgown, and actual nightgown. The rest of the time I was either sleeping in the day's clothes or my underwear. It seemed like the right thing to do, where a nightgown to sleep in...since I had gotten them for that purpose. This should be a regular thing, I thought....Not just a celebration of the day I took a minute.
I knew as I drifted to sleep that my brain had not stopped working. However, maybe I had managed to quiet a bit, and recorded some things worth recording and storing.
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