2nd September, 2018 Sunday
Its a late start today. Its late morning and all the chores are done except perhaps the dog poo sweep. I do like to procrastinate about poo. This will help with that.
I dreamt last night we were on our way to see my brother in LA. I am driving on the 405 and the trip has been long and I have no idea how to get from where I am to his lovely home. I get off on a road thats marked the 75 and realize I cannot pull up my brother’s contact on my phone while driving. Just not happening. I pull off the road into a driveway of a small house and presumptuously walk in. The door is not locked. Its nicely furnished but people lacking so we squat for a rest in someone’s home and I try to find my brother’s contact which is still elusive on the phone. We take a nap. In the nice bed. In this house we just wandered into. When we wake we avail ourselves of the kitchen in this house. The contents of the glasses cupboard threatens to fall out on top of us. We find the balance to the drinking vessels and slam the cupboard door and nothing happens. We are good. I still cannot find my brother’s contact but I can remember his street address and the name of the hotel my sister stayed in for my niece’s wedding down the street from my brother’s house. We could walk from there. Next scene is the lobby and then the pool deck with lots of tables but noone eating and I am hungry and isn’t it breakfast time.
And then a dog is weeping. Zoi needs to pee. I wake.
Tea is black with honey and cream. A conversation with my dear dear friend who brought my Zoi into the world. Zoi’s sisters went to show and walked away beribboned. YAY!!! Lots of wonderful Zois on the video feed on my phone this am. All the way across the world. Technology goes to work for dogs. Yes.
So the guts today, I guess, go here. I was the child noone wanted on their team. That last one left in the picking time, you all know that child. I was her. I was the fourth girl in the line waiting for the boy who did come rapidly after me. The only one they tried for, my dear parents, so the story goes. He is the brother I could not find last night. We were very little together.
Yes, the scar of being the kid noone wanted on their team, the last one waiting to be picked, the girl who was not boy. I was lanky and loose limbed and fell a lot. Tall with skinned knees.
There was a tree, a mythic copper beech, in the yard next door. Towering. Old. A vertical kingdom, its spiral spoking branches invited right at ground. An easy mount for kids who climb. There was a pack of us. My brother and I among the youngest. Seemed forever we were youngest. But mount the tree, the swarm of us, the kids of these homes so close together. Its the 60’s, middle, times are surface sweet and most of us are safe from all that lurks for children in the dark. It did for some of us but out of sight, those darks were not shared as we swarmed that mythic kingdom of a tree.
I could not conquer my quaking fear to go higher than that third branch. Oh my god, no, couldn’t do it no matter how hard those monkeys in our pack tried to pry me loose from that low branch to come and feel the high of height and gift of reaching more. I could not do it. Just could not. Fear.
I think about that tree, that lovely branching tower of a creature whose branch gave me perch to dream and feel a part of those who could do what I could not. See, I am here too. Just not like you. Just not like you. Just not like you as I look up at the feet of all the rest of you disappearing through those leaves.
At south of 60, that feeling of left behind, not wanted, not welcome can still come bite my heart which splurts a font of tears belonging to the me whose six and clutched to that branch or the babe who came out wrong. I can clutch my branch, you see. This is how I do Tree. Doesn’t that make me one of you?
Well, no, not quite. Took me a while, yes, a good long while to know I was not like them. And find the fine in that. And yes, I am fine, I do know that.
It makes it hard sometimes. Those of us who walk a different way, a little strange, have gifts a bit outside the reach of some. We find the Lone a lot. But we have Tribe. They do come. They do see us. And we see them. We meet each other along the way and know we have always been together. We all walk strange. Some, our blood and some are not. But it is, sure as shit, we are Tribe Who Walks Strange.
Takes me awhile when my font springs forth to find the branch. Sometimes I need a hand or hands to help. They came last night and today. My husband hugged me as the font arrived last night for reasons only I create. yes, I know I do it. This morning, my daughter showed up full of knowing who and what makes me, her heart came and held me and let me know its fine. Thank you, Husband. Thank you, Child. We all are strange.
Walking strange, its hard to know when Tribe is walking with you cuz that Tribe who found you is walking strange beside you.
My SIL has a story of a pack of wolves who chased beside and all around him to his truck one dusk, while hunting, he just came to damn close. They ran him off and left him safe where he belonged. He is part of thiers but just a little too strange to be too close.
I love my Tribe, my blood as well as not. I walk strange but they do love me and I do love all of them with all their strange.
Even my brother, whose contact I cannot find.
My husband and I spent a bit of afternoon yesterday sitting with some vines. Yes, in that place which brings California back to us. As we were leaving he noticed all the grapes.
So here. Have a look.
Ta.
Tea With Me 