To Contemplate a Flower

 

                                                       A Flower on my Kitchen Counter           

Hi---I guess I should explain where I’ve been for the last three months or so, but I won’t.  Not because I’m hiding anything, but because it’s really not that interesting.  Nothing to write home about.  I am teaching, both in high school and college.  It has kicked my booty, but regardless of being hard work, I am finding what I love...

I love an exchange of ideas and conversations.  This may be more suited to college education.  I’m not sure…

However, first and foremost I am a writer.  Writing, which is sort of a conversation with oneself, or with the world.  A sort of one-way convo.  I miss this: I truly miss the exchange of my own ideas. 

Honestly, I’ve been grading papers all day; I think I forgot how to write.  Can you forget?  I feel like maybe I’ve forgotten this part of myself, the part that gives away so much personal information.  I don’t do that at school, I’m a professional.  I give lectures, have discussions, and give assignments.  I don’t tell them how I feel.  I don’t tell them what’s up.  

I don’t even happen to know what’s up these days, I’ve been so busy working that I haven’t really been paying attention to like the news and stuff.  I hear there will be snow again this year, I don’t care to hear about it. 
 

What I am interested in is what people are doing.  What have you been up to in the past three months?  Have you found yourself?  Or maybe you found another person, even better.  

I would not use the word happy to describe how I feel right now.  I would use the world Zen.  I’m OK with the shit on my plate.  Some of it is good, some of it sucks. None of it matters.

And in this way it all matters.  Maybe it’s transitory.  Maybe it will go away…especially the bad stuff.  However I’m here for the long haul.  I’m here whether it snows or snows more…I will try not to be offended by the gods.  They are after all, the gods.  Let the universe do what it has got to do.  We are mere participants.  I’m just trying to enjoy the ride.

Enough about me, tell me about you…I’d love to know about that sweater dress that you bought, and those boots.  I’d love to know it all.  I want to hear about it.  I will have some time off soon, I want to read your stories, all of them.  I want to read the hell out of my life.  I want to get my Kindle on.

What have you been thinking about all these months?  What will you do for the holidays?  What new food did you start to eat? 

Are you free?  I’m used to asking questions these days, because as a teacher you should talk less and listen more.  

What do you want to ask me?    

I want my time back.  I want to have time to contemplate a flower.  A flower just is, it doesn’t have to justify its existence like we do.  It doesn’t have to do anything.  I want to be a flower.

In my next life maybe.  

They say that people dying of Cancer will tell you to smell the flowers.  I haven’t really smelled a flower in a long time.  

I mean if those are the things we will remember when we are dying, maybe it’s time to start living.  

I want to do things like sing, even though I have a horse’s voice, I sing in my car and in the shower.  It makes me feel alive.  It makes me happy.  

What else makes you happy?

Honestly, in my private, private, private life there are things going wrong.  Things I can’t talk about.  

You know what makes me get through it?  These talks I have with myself, and flowers, and sometimes a friend. 
 

Flowers and friends.  

Is it too feminine of me to be so flowery?

Maybe.

Who cares?

I’ve found honesty in a flower, the truth maybe even.

I can’t explain it, but I feel it.  

nina