The Scent of Bliss

Were I an alchemist
divining your scent
I would seek out
the essence of

Old books
Decaying maple leaves
Clean damp wool
The bitter bite of stout
To make the fundament.

Rising high above:
Apple blossoms
And their fruit

crisp tart

Would introduce you

girlish and fresh.

but

The eyes of those
who dared come close
would water faintly
at the sting
of cardamom and chilies.

I imagine you would dab
the silky oil
on those tender spots
between

adding your musk

So that passersby

who caught your scented trail
might suddenly envision
the dark green loam
of an ancient wood
and fairies cavorting
before the flames.

Reunion Redux: Once More, With Feeling!

I have posted a few (okay, several) times about my abiding sense of awkwardness and loneliness. This was particularly true at last year's UWC reunion. Nonetheless, I felt compelled to go again this year, largely because I wanted to see my first-year roommate, of whom I have fantastic warm memories. I am very glad I went. At the end of the weekend I said goodbye and embraced everyone, relishing the knowledge that twenty years and thousands of miles have not diminished our friendships. 

This year has been one of transformation for me. Having begun my personal fitness odyssey, I am no longer as overwhelmingly ashamed of my physical self. I have revisited my priorities, and am working to take care of my emotional health. I have learned to speak in the gibberish of self-help gurus.

Perhaps that's why with this group I didn't feel the need to try so very hard to impress. I was delighted to meet up with my roomie and several other people I really liked then, and still like now. We laughed, we wrote together, we reminisced. There were many hugs. It was good. I also spent time alone, enjoying the beautiful weather and some much-needed solitude. And I danced until my feet ached, joyous in the company of dear friends.

Like last year there were a number of scheduled activities, most of which I skipped this time around. One in which I did participate was a remembrance ceremony. Walking to the  garden felt like approaching a funeral, especially when I saw boxes of tissues at the end of each row of folding chairs. Still, there was a certain peacefulness sitting under the pine trees, listening to the low murmur of voices dulled by the wind in the top boughs.

Below the bright blue sky we honored benefactors I never knew, and mourned classmates I  wished I'd known better. Mourners spoke of the friendships forged at the school, and the lives changed by them. And, during a passionate speech in which he expressed his gratitude for the school, his now-deceased parents, and the twenty years of students he has taught, a marvelous teacher spoke about how honored he has been to love and be loved his students. One line rang through me like a bell: "it is easy to give love. It is difficult to receive it".

For more than twenty years I have mistrusted most affection I have been offered. Believing that I would be mocked or somehow humiliated if I responded, I practiced diffidence and deflection. I was fine offering myself, giving of myself, but I read sinister intent behind the most casual, unintentional slights. And I have missed out. I I know now that my fear came from a lack of self-worth, and I am trying to change my thinking. I will continue to give. Now I must learn to receive.

This morning I woke from a dream in which I was hurrying to catch a bus for which I was desperately late. Instead of feeling frantic and guilty, though, I grinned and hurried and just managed -- awkwardly dragging a suitcase and stumbling through doors -- to make it on board. I looked around and saw dozens of people I have known (including those I'd just seen at the reunion), all smiling. In the past I would have understood them to be mocking my ineptitude. In my dream, though, as I searched for an open seat, everyone was gesturing eagerly for me to join them. As I flopped down in the nearest available space I laughed, filled with delight at the love and friendships that surrounded me.

Gratitudes

I've been writing little "I'm grateful for . . " type messages on FaceBook this week, after being challenged to do so. Someone remarked that it gets harder over time; I found it got easier and easier. I have so much to be grateful for. Now that Thanksgiving is over I don't really want t give up this little habit because it is a good reminder to myself, especially when I'm blue, of how wonderful my life truly is. So, today's gratitude is for the women I am closest to in my life:

Stephanie, who teaches me how to be powerful and gentle at the same time.

MaryAnn, who consistently demonstrates the path to joy.

Julie, who proves to me that style and beauty are always within reach.

Anita, who helps me find the laughter in anything.

Mom, who taught me compassion and how to love unconditionally, no matter the risk.

Your examples help me become a better person. Thank you.

A gift given

Several weeks ago I gave a friend a tin of oatmeal raisin cookies I had made. As always, I made far too many and was happy to share. Her family enjoyed the cookies, she returned the tin a couple days later, and I put it away. Today as I was attempting to clean my kitchen I moved the tin and realized there was something inside. Instead of giving me cookies in return (which I specifically asked that she not do), my friend had put in several articles she thought I'd enjoy.
She was right; there was one article on knitting, one on architecture, and a recipe for home-made chai. All suit me quite nicely, and it was a delightful respite to sit on a stool in the middle of the kitchen and read through random snippets I would otherwise never have found. It also got me thinking; gifts given are a mirror in which the recipient can better see how others perceive them.
Once I gave my mother a necklace depicting a dancing goddess. To me the goddess reflected my mother's indomitable spirit. I don't quite remember what I wrote in the accompanying note, but I do remember how surprised my mother was. She doesn't believe herself to be the person I see. Perhaps that is a family trait -- I think of myself as rather stodgy, but the articles I received reflected someone with wide interests, a zest for spice (literally), and a certain amount of creativity.
I like how you see me. Thank you.