Please please rescue me

I am looking out the window onto the windy day, I hear the pirate walk in……

My daughter was watching an episode of Rescue Me, while I sat and drank my coffee, the scene is he and his wife in a nice upscale restaurant, wine glasses, limited menu, waiter with an accent.  He begins to act like a buffoon, she tells him put your napkin on your lap, wha? he says, put your napkin in your lap.  The usual bickering goes on as it always does, but throughout it, Tommy, played by Denis Leary, is trying to pretend like he understands all the fancy stuff on the menu, and what fork to use, but he doesn’t.

I turned to her and say, that is me, not on the outside, but on the inside.

I so much prefer the local hole in the wall, or the tavern food, I am most comfortable in my jeans.

The flaxen leaves of the corn stalks tenderly caress the prickling stems of the pine shrub.

I am laughing to myself about someone asking me for my snail mail address, and me sending my email, the second request, and my I am such a dope sometimes response elicits a “welcome to the human race”.  Yes indeed.  Here I am people.

“A chapel is where we hear something and nothing, ourselves and everyone else, a silence that is not the absence of noise but the presence of something much deeper: the depth beneath our thoughts.” ~Pico Iyer

My chapel is Clark Reservation, my chapel, should really be my body, my inner self.  What is it saying?  It is silent, no it isn’t, it is silent, no it isn’t, do you not hear that sound?

And when I leave like a storm, I am annoyed by you.  Months and months and still we are here in this cold place?  My floor and walls may be cold on bare feet, but the heart that beats here is like a volcano.  Your floor and walls may be warm, but your heart?  It is cased in cold steel, I grow tired of banging on it.

Later I drive, music cranked around the outskirts of the city, God’s thumbnail hiding behind some clouds, the wind whipping, familiar roads not driven for many years, through the long straight onion scented mucklands, the light flashing like a beacon miles ahead, suddenly I just want to be home.  A single tear falls from my eyes, like a falling star, God’s thumbnail emerges from behind the clouds.

Home brings my daughter sitting on my bed laptop next to laptop, me giggling at a conversation with a man I have never met.  He is asking me to design something for a party, and quizzing me on show tunes, of which I know but one, I’m just the girl who can’t say no, I’m in a terrible fix.

…What are you looking at?  the pirate asks.

The corn stalk blowing in the wind, I answer.

What are you high on your cold medicine?

An aside:  If you only knew I just saw the whole universe in the briefest of moments.

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