I want to be all like, whoa what a shit day but I will positive and smile and look forward to tomorrow anyway! But instead I am all, whoa what a shit day, fuck this, fuck everyone, burn everything down and rebuild tomorrow, if you must.
I dreamed we picked small flowers by the creek and never looked at each other’s faces. The tall grass was gold, so was the sun. I ran ahead into the still, quiet pines and held my breath with my back again rough tree bark. I knew you were with me again by the scent of your salted summer skin.
M. feels ill and I have distinctly “meh” relationship with v-day, so we’re just gonna eat some breaded chicken and I will just haaaave to eat some of this truffle pie I made today. I also bought new lipstick, new nail polish that feels like sand, and a Certificate of Excellence for M. because it was two dollars and perfect.
So, our ferret Yuri has a mass on his neck. It is relatively large and extends from under his throat around the right side of his little neck. We booked an emergency appointment for today at 630 after we found it last night. The vet doesn’t know what it is, wants to wait one week to see if it changes in size, and if it doesn’t get smaller, it will mean an expensive biopsy. His heart and lungs are doing very well, but he is losing weight despite eating a lot of food. I hate having no answers. And of course, fresh worries about money. Really though, I just want this to be nothing because Yuri has so many excellent ferret years left. Come on, life, a break would be great.
Stayed an extra two hours at work so I could meet up with my beautiful and lovely co-worker, C. and we somehow missed each other at the Chapters in our plaza. So, we only got a 20 minute friend date, but like, some days that 20 minutes is so needed and so recharging. Do you ever just want to shower someone with love for being so rad, but also don’t want to terrify them? I love my work friends because we just love on each other anyway, and it is really awesome to have that connection with other humans again.
After learning my flight was detained 4 hours,
I heard the announcement:
If anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic,
Please come to the gate immediately.
Well—one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there.
An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress,
Just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly.
Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her
Problem? we told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she
I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly.
Shu dow-a, shu- biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick,
Sho bit se-wee?
The minute she heard any words she knew—however poorly used—
She stopped crying.
She thought our flight had been canceled entirely.
She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the
Following day. I said no, no, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just late,
Who is picking you up? Let’s call him and tell him.
We called her son and I spoke with him in English.
I told him I would stay with his mother till we got on the plane and
Would ride next to her—Southwest.
She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it.
Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and
Found out of course they had ten shared friends.
Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian
Poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours.
She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering
She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered
Sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag—
And was offering them to all the women at the gate.
To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a
Sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California,
The lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same
Powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies.
And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolers—
Non-alcoholic—and the two little girls for our flight, one African
American, one Mexican American—ran around serving us all apple juice
And lemonade and they were covered with powdered sugar too.
And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands—
Had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing,
With green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always
Carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere.
And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought,
This is the world I want to live in. The shared world.
Not a single person in this gate—once the crying of confusion stopped
—has seemed apprehensive about any other person.
They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women too.
This can still happen anywhere.
Not everything is lost.” –
Naomi Shihab Nye (b. 1952), “Wandering Around an Albuquerque Airport Terminal.” I think this poem may be making the rounds, this week, but that’s as it should be. (via oliviacirce)
When I lose hope in the world, I remember this poem.