My sweet Valentine David Marshall gave me books and a lovely kimono shawl (behind the books) as Valentine’s Day gifts. I was very surprised and so happy with presents I will wear, read, and enjoy immensely.
The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry is about a grieving bookstore owner who receives a surprise “package” (I think it’s a baby, but I’ll have to read it to see) that changes his life. I want to read it before I watch the movie on Netflix. The Love Of My Life is a suspenseful romance thriller about an obituary writer who finds out his wife has a secret identity. Both of these look fabulous!
One of the things I noticed first about my future husband was his unaffected demeanor and his willingness to be openly fascinated by a new thought. There was no pretense, no attempt to impress, and certainly no vanity. I am still pleased by these qualities he embodies. He is who he is and that is that.
The people I want to surround myself with must share these characteristics or at least strive to work toward some semblance of authenticity. A friend of mine is writing a beautiful short story about a fictionalized Nefertiti whose companion silver fox’s tail bristles at the slightest hint of insincerity. When I read her rough draft, I was struck by the realization that something within me resonates with that fox—a bristling, like sand in my shoe, an unfamiliar noise in the dark, a mis-buttoned shirt, or one little dead gnat in my soup. Sure, I can fish the gnat out and consider eating the soup because I love the soup and don’t want to waste the soup, and the dead gnat is not that big of a deal. However, it is a hurdle my brain must get past to push through and move on and act as though nothing of consequence has happened. I know. I can’t unknow.
We are all flawed and have moments that we regret in our interactions with others or our representation of ourselves to the world, but my biggest regrets all stem from times in my life that I was not being authentic with myself. The lowest lows where I had bona fide breakdowns with lifechanging consequences were when I was lying to myself about who I was, what I believed, or what I was willing to tolerate. Living a fractured life, accepting unbearable circumstances for the sake of a belief system or other people’s judgment will result in disaster.
It is scary to say out loud that our personal ideologies no longer line up with our current realities. It is terrifying to admit to people who we love that we must set boundaries with them for our own sanity, but we owe it to ourselves to speak the truth in love and accept that there will be consequences for speaking that truth. And I have come to know in my half a century of living that, though some of the fallout is painful and chaotic, when the dust settles, I am better for it.
When living in authenticity, I can find a gentle, kind, sincere soul to partner with on a dating website full of toads. I can leave my career that I invested over 30 years of education and work into. I can leap into a new, scary field and become the writer I’ve always said I wanted to be. I can develop a spiritual life that nourishes me and others around me. And I can be ok in the midst of the turmoil that is spiraling around us all due to geopolitical craziness that sucks us easily into the madness. I don’t know the right answer to everything, anything sometimes, but I know that when my silver fox tail bristles at the inauthenticity of the moment, I will stop and listen and possibly change course.
“Going to the chapel and you’re gonna get married.” Today’s the day you say your vows, agree to disagree for many years to come. Family and friends look on with joy and tears, so thankful to have gained a daughter or a son. Our hearts are full as we celebrate your sweet union, hopeful that this is the beginning of a lifetime of love.
@Home Studio – 338th poem of the year
More Wedding Day photos to accompany my poem:
Julian as ring bearer security. Mackenzie and Charlotte as flower girls.
Lydia, Lonti, and Cassidy as bridesmaids.
Paul, Boaz, Luke, Alex, Cori, backs of Rebekah, David, Cyndee.
My heart hurt with crushing disappointment after the news of the election was released. I felt sadness about the reality of the people who would be affected by inhumane policies.
I have so much more to learn to be an ally for those I love because it never occurred to me to be afraid for my husband or granddaughter whose skin is more melanated than mine.
Lying in bed, bemoaning the next four years, my husband admitted to being nervous about walking the dog the next morning because it will be dark and racists might feel emboldened.
My breath caught to think a thought so horrible, and realize those are the thoughts my husband has grown up with, must live with, is burdened by, and over half our nation is just fine with that.
@Home Studio on 12/4/24 @ 8:52pm – 330th poem of the year
He’s a quick draw and hard on cold-blooded cowards He’s no bushwhacker or hustler no sidewinder who rattlesnakes unsuspecting innocents No, he is simply on the lam for getting the drop on a corrupt politician with power and refusing to back down Quick to cowboy up and get gaited Gives any ace-high man a fair shake Sweet on one lady and made an honest woman out of her Admired for telling good yarns and shooting straight Never one to raise Cain or drink red eye to associate with bad eggs or spend time in brothels or saloons Salt of the earth and above board Who cuts a fine figure as he rides off into the sunset
My husband is in the air as I write this. His body is literally catapulting through the sky at over 500 miles per hour and we are all supposed to act like that is a perfectly normal thing for a human to do on a random Sunday night. I guess it is actually a Monday afternoon in Japan because he’s going so fast he’s skipping most of a day into the future. Is anything real on this strange sphere we call home that spins at 1,000 miles per hour while circling the sun at 67,000 miles per hour in our solar system that is zipping 450,000 miles per hour around the Milky Way?
COVID’s curse is that it lingers, hangs menacingly in the air, and recapitulates its previous threats with symptomatic diminishment. Not as serious, less deadly, return to work after only five days now, means everyone shares the virus and those concerned are viewed as disproportionately cautious. Do they remember the terror so recently fresh to those whose cats lost their owners and children lost their grandmothers and we lamented the death counts daily? This time when my husband got sick and I could not touch him for a week, I still checked to make sure he was breathing and sheltered in place and social distanced, though no one uses that language these days anymore…so 2020 of me. Perhaps it is the lack of the sense of smell that was stolen from me or the worsened sense of vision that was purloined or the lessened oxygenation ability that was pilfered or possibly the energy I once had to function all day that was looted after my fourth run-in with the offender who is nothing more than an unwelcome, tiresome loiterer.
@Home Studio – 246th poem of the year
Runner ups for the COVID photos to accompany my poem:
It’s a Starbucks Sunday kind of day with a Texas August outside and chilled artificial air cooling us in our fishbowl drinking iced tea and pink fluffy milkshakes with fancy names like Strawberry Cream Frappuccino. Fellow goldfish scurry from their cars into the inside where it is safe and comfortable with the sounds of music and laughter, frothing and cash registers, clip clop of flip flops, and pleasant conversation that dips and swells and matches the happy serenity.
This sweet baby wanted the endless skewer platter parade of chuleta, costela, and alcatra, filet mignon, and especially the cordeiro at Estancia Churrascaria for his birthday. He has little use for the polenta, and will not touch the fried bananas, but fights me for the hottest pao de queijo on the table. Yesterday, he was everyone’s answer. Today, he’s back to being only mine. So, I was pleased to celebrate the marking of the occasion with flaming Crème Brule Cheesecake in honor of turning 43.
rebekahjmarshall 