The sky was so dark. A storm was moving in. I had the window wide open until the very last second. As soon as the front moved through I opened the window again. There was a steady downpour for a few minutes. Now the birds are returning to the dead tree. They love that tree. A Cooper’s Hawk sits at the very tippy top. The crows try to scare it away. It won’t be deterred. All the other birds fly in and out and around. Drama in the morning sky.
Now the sky is growing light. It’s so lovely.
I made some strong coffee. One cup. The puzzles are worked. Except the crossword. I usually do that one in the afternoon.
The rain had me daydreaming. Wandering down into the depth of a memory. Living in Seattle. I had gone there as a groupie to the dance company of Bill Evans. I wanted so strenuously to dance in that company. But, as it turns out I was a hot mess. I couldn’t get focused. Too inconsistent in my practice. Too distracted by the fun I was having. It was my twenty fifth year. The night of my birthday drinking alone, I was over served and asked to leave the J&M. I worked there. I liked a waiter who also worked there. He was amused by me. To a certain point. Whatever, I won’t bore you with that saga. Suffice it to say, I was not in good form. Besides I hardly remember the details.
I do remember the rain. Sitting in chairs on the back porch of an apartment with a roommate, Michealyn or Michealin or Mikelyn? Hmmm, no clue? Anyway, she and I would smoke out there. We’d smoke and read and drink from a shared pint that sat on the floor between us. Might have been bourbon? Which was not my favorite. My favorite was actually whatever you brought (cue eye roll here). I remember that I was reading, “Another Roadside Attraction” by Tom Robbins. The sound of the rain and the very distinct perfume of the trees mingled with wood burning is what is most strong in my memory.
Who knew that in less than five years that I would have backed myself into a corner. That I would be on my mother’s couch with my tail between my legs. picking up the pieces and trying again. Getting back on the proverbial horse was a routine I was coming to perfect.
Who knew that in five years my mother would be gone. Who knew that I would burn it all almost all the way down before I found a horse I could ride that would steady me. Eight years it took. For one brief moment in time there was a break in the clouds. I was able to step through into the light. It sounds corny I know. I have come to view grace as something that is always present. It’s up to me to recognize.
For thirty one years I have been walking this path. Steady and consistent and focused. It’s a hard slog sometimes. It’s a solo journey. Sometimes too lonely. But here I am, right here right now in this moment incredibly grateful to be alive and sober. Grateful for the storm and the rain. Grateful for a strong cup of coffee. Grateful for the teachers that bring me the truth. Grateful to make peace with the shame and drama of days long ago.
Stay on the path. Make the list. Share that it’s possible to break free.
☮️🦋🙏🏻
Spinster Life 