wings and things


on July 13, 2012

I am laughing and chatting and listening to music and watching the birds and giving Ming a hug and cooking dinner and turning the television on and washing the dishes and changing the sheets and blogging and reading a good book and checking facebook and deciding whether to give the emus half a cabbage or a whole one and half-noticing the sunset and hoping the phone won’t ring and hoping the phone will ring and making a shopping list and trying to find my diary and paying bills and answering emails and making a to-do list and feeling glad about some things and sad about other things and thinking about pruning the roses and baking bread with the flour I bought a few months ago that probably has weevils in it and wondering whether to have a coffee or a tea or a diet coke or a beer and feeling hungry and feeling sick and wanting to go to bed and wanting to wake up and cleaning out my office and organizing my paperwork and resigning from my job and loving my friends and loving my family and loving the dogs and wishing I had continued to write columns for magazines and wishing I had written more than one book by now and and hating getting older and loving getting older and wondering what it would be like if we had more than one kid and remembering how I nearly got frostbite in Canada and wishing I had rung Tulia in PNG before he forgot about me and wishing I remembered everybody’s birthdays and wishing we had more money and laughing and chatting and helping Ming with lyrics and loving grammar and being amazed that he has the fireplace lit and feeling glad that it isn’t going to be as cold tonight as it was last night and wishing the day were night and the night were day and dreaming about eating fairy floss and Disneyland and sunburned shoulders and feeding the squirrels and wanting to find the keys to wind all of Anthony’s clocks and opening my mouth to say something to Ming but he is busy and wondering how my niece’s preparations for her wedding are going in Scotland and thinking it might not work to take Jack the Irish terrier into the nursing lodge and wishing the kitchen staff would bend the rules and give me scraps for the chooks and delighting in the anticipation of fresh eggs and thinking how lucky I am to live in such a beautiful place and wondering why good people suffer and reminding Ming to set the alarm so he will get up to help milk the cows for the neighbours and finding the library book I lost several months ago and laughing because I forgot to remember to do whatever it was and then ….

…. it hits me like a car crash – the grinding metal of grief and I stop breathing, terrified that there might be another slamming of brakes, swerving of lights, skidding of tyres but, instead, there is silence, so I creep into the bathroom and lock the door and put the noisy fan on so that I can muffle into my collar the horrible sounds coming from throat so that Ming won’t hear me or worry about me or get impatient with me or wonder where his dinner is and, eventually ….

….I come out of the bathroom and into the light-filled, Aga-warmed kitchen and continue to stir the stew I have made with fresh vegetables and meat and Ming comes into the kitchen excited about his new lyrics and a new tune and wants me to listen and, once again, I am laughing and talking and listening to music, knowing that by now Anthony will be asleep.

49 responses to “Yearning

  1. terry1954 says:

    all i can say about this blog, is i understand totally, and this was me yesterday, exactly, and even today, some still remains. i don’t know what is my problem anymore, but i feel too alone, and i feel like i have no kids, no family, no friends, and i can hardly take it anymore. i just want to sleep. so wish this would pass, but yet afraid of what tomorrow will bring

  2. ceciliag says:

    Good God darling, this has rocked me and will rock many, we know this one.. I am going to try and send my blog cuddle bubble over..I know darling .. nothing helps.. I can’t help. God knows I wish I could.. c

  3. Anonymous says:

    this is so beautiful and so sad. sending love xx brigid

  4. Louise G. says:

    This post so resontated with me — the way your mind wandered and leapt and turned inside out.

    And then my heart broke with your grief and in your tears I felt the sadness and the knowing — all is well. your heart is such a beautiful place.

    Thank you for sharing your beauty, your grief, your sorrow and your joy so generously.

  5. Judith Post says:

    Jeez, your writing’s good. Gut-wrenching powerful.

  6. Breathe in, breathe out, repeat. Sometimes, that’s all you can do.

  7. 2me4art says:

    Hugs. Life really is so damn hard. Today is a cane day, I walk like I’m very drunk on bad days. But my day isn better then Henry’s “mom, I can’t spell anything” crying his eyes out. He tells me he hates to write, I told him his teacher isnt going to listen to that crap. Life is hard. Learn to write.

  8. I love this, really, really love this. I thought I was the queen of run-off sentences though 🙂 Great post Julie. You’re a good mom, wife, woman….

  9. Michelle says:

    Ok you silly woman, we told you Tulia remembers all of you guys and probably particularly you! haha. Beautiful post sis-in-law.

  10. Robyn Lee says:

    Oh gosh Julie… did not know where you were going with this wonderful beautiful stream of consciousness post – and at the end got the lump in my stomach that I’m sure you must have felt before your retreating to the bathroom. I was so happy you were able to manage that wave ok and come back into your joy with Ming, and knowing Anthony was settled in. I’m having a rough time of it here as well. So wish things would be less turbulent for us both. Huge HUG! xo

  11. Jo-Anne says:

    What a great post loved this…………….

  12. bluebee says:

    As much as we endeavour to lock it out, it finds the key, and for as long as it does, we have to let it in for our own long-term sanity

  13. Fergiemoto says:

    I can relate to the mind racing and pulling in so many different directions. Powerful. I had to come up for air a few times while reading the first paragraph – perhaps a sign indicating the importance of taking breaks whenever possible.

  14. dcwisdom says:

    To give you hope for the day (or night): There’s life on the other side. As dreadful and heart-wrenching as it is right now, (my dad’s favorite saying was) “…And, this, too, shall pass.” Dad was a wise man. Even in his illness and mind-state, he knew there was life on the other side of it all. He encouraged us to look beyond his situation and find hope beyond. It’s the circle of life. My girlfriends who’s serving a life sentence in prison writes that if she didn’t have hope, she would have nothing. Sending you prayers of hope and love and a big Texas hug!

  15. The occasional release is absolutely vital for your health. It’s okay; it really is.

  16. cuhome says:

    I’m struck with your first paragraph, which says it all… life sometimes comes without any punctuation marks: no commas, semi-colons, periods, paragraph breaks,–none of those things that give us a chance to breathe, that let us catch our breath and take a time out. And we cannot stop in the middle of a sentence, because if we do, everything will fall apart, and all those hanging words will come falling away and tumbling down in a mess of chaos around our ankles, so we just keep going, knowing that it doesn’t matter what we do, or how we do it, we just have to keep going. ♥

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