21 September 2004

Turning 40

Oh bother. I’m remiss in my lament of turning forty. Now, suddenly, I feel rushed – like there’s just not the time to honor and regret this momentous occasion. There’s not time to write the tome that chronicles four decades of kisses, the touch that never saved me, the stories unwritten, songs unsung and futures unexplored. Now, suddenly, I feel rushed.

It seems no matter how much time I set aside, no matter how much preparation on my spiritual mountains, I’m not prepared for what comes and what goes. I just need time to think. Time to sort all this out. I’m sure the answer is in here somewhere if I just had time to reflect on this all. And I’m certain, perhaps tomorrow, there will be time and there will be time. Now, suddenly, I feel rushed.

I will perhaps regret not finding the time to lament this day fully but it feels there’s so little time left and it seems such a silly waste to spend it on such futile labours.

19 September 2004

Wedding Day Blues and Oranges

The wedding was quaint. The bride wore a bright orange Chinese silk print dress with slits up to there, hair died to match, a flaming sea of orange offsetting a bright blue flower. Her daughter, the beautiful Ute, in a complimenting blue silk two piece, looked almost ornamental – like jewelry – between the two. It was her day too. The wedding reception would double as her first birthday party.

We arrived fashionably late, which was right on time. We took a row boat onto Stow Lake and Ed complained about the ballast of the boat and rowed as Secret Agent Dog and I diligently spied ducks and harbored knowing thoughts about the nearness of the reeds and our captains steering abilities. While I was told to provide steering direction he resisted instruction. We arrived, however, as I say, fashionably late, which was right on time.

They were wed in the Chinese Pagoda on Stow Lake – some constellation of guests convened with their string quartet to watch and serenade from inside the pagoda. Other’s like myself, Ed and Secret Agent Dog arrived by row or paddle boat and were aquatic onlookers to the event.

The reception and birthday party was celebrated as pot luck barbeque in a field with a tent in Golden Gate Park. The entertainment was an accordion player, dressed in a rainbow colored house dress, doing very bad drag in tribute to Julia Childs, who’d occasionally burst into Aerosmith covers. Ed manned the grill, taking great pride in cooking the groom’s steak.

We sat on the big green fleece blanket I’d taken from the sofa, along with Secret’s Mustard-colored fleece throw, ate food, played with Ms. Honey Bee, and chatted with the various guests who’d come our way. It was much warmer there on the lawn than it was under the big white tent which housed the lion’s share of the guests and the wedding party. There was a handful of us who scattered across lawn and took in what warmth the sun offered through the fog which hung high over the City, which means it wasn’t so damp or cold as a typical summer day in San Francisco.

17 September 2004

Prayer and Consequences

I remember reading recently that salvation, the Lord being there now and at the hour of our deaths, is a freebie – there for the taking for all who ask. One would think I’d spend a little more time meditating on salvation – to not be alone in the world now or when I die. Nope, I use up my karma points with Mr. Big on work deadlines. What’s up with that? That’s why it’s embarrassing – it feels so secular, material, menial. As though my work deadlines are of interest or consequence to some Supreme Radiant Being. Honestly, I would hope that He or She gave more attention to things like starvation, disease, poverty and violence. But I don’t want to sound ungrateful either. For any and all assistance You provided me to get these rather fiercely out of control deadlines to step back in formation a bit, I am grateful, humbled and thankful.

Ah.. and next posting I’ll be sure to concentrate more on my lament of turning forty. You know, it’s on my list, lament turning 40. Eventually I’ll get around to it.. heh.

13 September 2004

Ante Up

I’ll be turning forty soon. Sigh. It’s been leaving me introspective. As silly as it may seem it’s also been inspiring me to go through my armoire. “Forty year old women don’t wear shorts that look like this,” I’ll say to myself as I toss another this or that in a Goodwill bag. I’ve decided that forty year old women don’t wear unmatched socks, socks that are stretched out, underwear with threadbare elastic waste bands and shorts with unpatched holes. As I near the closet I’m certain I’ll discover other things that forty year old women don’t wear. I hope this will lead to an examination of what forty year old women do and don’t do, what inspires their happiness and sense of adventure. I hope turning forty isn’t merely marked by a purging clothes.