I painted the picture above from a photo I took in Leon, France. I recall it had just finished raining and the little boy seemed untrusting of his footing. I remember his wanting to hang on to his mother’s hand, but her hands were already full.
In so many ways it has been a lost week for me. It seems like the rainstorms, so unusual for us, will never stop. Of course in my personal fog (more on that later) it brings memories of Seattle. Across the street on 26th Ave. West where I grew up till age 12 was a large wooded area, eventually sloping down to the railroad tracks and Elliot Bay. An overgrown deeply rutted road, long unused by cars, ran through it, leading gently downwards to what was then Pier 91. During the depression homeless men from many parts of the country would jump the freights, sometimes cutting through the woods up to our house, on the edge of the bluff, asking for food in exchange for work. I remember them as polite and grateful for a piece of white Langendorf with sandwich spread, which was mostly mayonnaise and dill pickle. Sometimes my mother, sensing their pride, would have them sweep the small front porch.
When I think of it now, “the woods” as I called this area, was not a very safe place to play for a little girl alone. Yet I was most content there. The alder and madrona and bracken fern sheltered me from the heaviest downpours. I knew how to avoid the stinging nettles. I made countless secret paths through the salal. In the spring I was mesmerized by the gigantic banana slugs and the hatching tent caterpillars. In my child’s world I thought I owned these woods. As soon as a heavy rain would start I would don my dark brown three button galoshes and head for the abandoned road, for the best mud puddles were to be found there. Splat! Splat! Such joy. With my toe I would carve rivulets, delighting in the process of making new channels for the water to flow. The rain was my personal friend for it led me to intimacy with nature. Most of all, it was such fun. I wish I could remember and relive that special joy, but alas, I can’t.
How changed I am now. Two days of rain and my chin is in my lap. Since this has been going on about two weeks my spirits are in the pits. Also my memory is on sabbatical. Perhaps it is waterlogged like my long awaited blooming iris, which now resemble mush. Last Tuesday I missed an important meeting, having it on my calendar for next week instead. And for over a week I’ve been searching for the bill for my house taxes, due April 10. I remember putting the bill in a special place so I wouldn’t loose it. Yikes! I’m clueless.
Wednesday morning I took some serious tranquilizers and a bunch of other meds at the periodontist’s orders, for I was having surgery to do a sinus lift .
I don’t remember much of Wednesday at all. It seems my left sinus was hanging down like an old lady’s boob. I do remember thinking I wish it were a face lift on the outside, not the inside. He filled the vacant hole with cadaver material. Yikes again.
The weather man predicts sunshine by next Monday or Tuesday. Then it will be time to put on a happy face, lift or not.