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June 17, 2009
It is thin and black and it holds my life. Hinged, it sits at the edge of a table, its keyboard on a towel, its screen dangling straight down off the edge. At 8:47 this morning, I was comparing prices on two websites for compostable, biodegradable “green” cups, plates, forks and spoons, preparing to spend four or five hundred dollars on a year’s worth of supplies for my writing groups. I had just written down the discount code for Greenbiz.com, which would eliminate the cost of shipping, when my left arm somehow connected with my 20-ounce smooth glass (full) cup of chai and it tipped all over the table, quickly spreading the hot, sweet spicy liquid right up to the edge of Eli’s laptop, dousing Karyn’s yoga catalog and notebook in the process. Unfortunately, the bulk of the chai went straight into the base of my laptop. I instantly turned my I-Book over and out the chai poured.
Eli,” I said, “go get a towel.” He came back with one lousy dishtowel, which he used to dab at his barely dampened case. Talk about adolescent narcissism!
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I had the great pleasure to be a writing student this past Sunday. I went to a wonderful one-day retreat with Carolyn Brigit Flynn. One of the prompts she gave was a quote from Pamela Eakens masterwork, Tarot of the Spirit. This is how Eakens begins her description of the Tarot card, The Sun:
"You have been through a deep darkness. Your shadow has accosted you from every side. But this darkness, you now understand, is only a temporary absence of light during hte movement through the great birth canal."
Here's what I wrote in response:
What is it that I really know? What is it that I have learned from the darkness? What is it my body knows? My body has always known I live in it, but now I know know that I live in my body. My body, as I use it and stretch it and push it to excel at being a body, as I finally allow it its space on the stage of my life, has become my teacher.
I have always been a creature of the mind. I have always known how to study, to learn, to speak, to write. In 5th grade, I held my hand up, waving madly in the air, "Ewwww... ewww...Call on me! Please, call on me! I have the answer." My brain wanted to shine, to have the light of approval shower down on me. "She's so smart. That Laurie is so smart." And so I studied and read and wrote and taught. And left my body far behind.
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I’m sitting in my memoir intensive and while my students are pouring their hearts out on the page, writing about the triumphs and challenges they’ve faced in their lives, I’m taking the time to let you know how my training is going so far.
Wow!
That is to say I really had no idea about the intensity and scope of the time and energy commitment I was making when I plunked down my 90 bucks and registered for the 3-Day-Breast-Cancer walk. As I’ve written before, I haven’t seriously exercised in almost 40 years. In my "good" periods, I’ve taken daily walks to the beach, a round trip of perhaps a mile. In “bad” months, my main exercise has been between the computer and the refrigerator and the bed.
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Eli in Love
Note to Readers: I read this post and my last one to Eli and asked his permission to publish them here. Graciously, he gave it.
Dear Eli,
It is time for me to say goodbye to you. It is time for me to let go of the relationship we used to have. For years I have been part of your inner world; you shared it with me freely. I was your mentor, your coach, the sun in your sky. I knew your heart, I knew your mind, I knew your spirit. I could read you with a single glance. From a very young age, you told me who you were and how you saw the world.
Your birth cracked open my heart in a way it had never been broken before; you helped make me who I am today. You gave me a new reason to live, someone to focus on, obsess over, provide for. I have always delighted in paving a way for you, supporting your interests, whatever they might be, creating a wealth of positive choices just steps from where you stood. I have guided you, protected you, cheered you on, and yes, at times, cajoled and manipulated you. I have shared my beliefs, my values, my heart, my resources, my best thoughts, and my deepest self. I have loved you and your sister more completely and with less restrictions than I have ever loved before or since, and I want to thank you for entering my world and teaching me to love.
Now you do not need me to be the mother I have been. You no longer need a mother to guide you, to lead you, to make decisions for you. You don't need a mother to watch over your shoulder and make sure you do what you're supposed to do. You don't need a mother to fret over your choices and to push you when she thinks it is necessary. You don't need me to intrude in your life and you prefer it when I do not.
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