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Born in the US, raised on the Mediterranean island of Cyprus, lived in Italy, the US, and Canada. Lover of language, travel, colour, and the natural world.

Monday, October 31, 2011

Pumpkin pie smells like love

"Thought is an agent of change." -Aura Estrada, 2003 

I am reading the book "Say Her Name," by Fracisco Goldman. It is an interesting read, made more interesting by the fact that I started reading not realizing that it is a true, non-fiction work based on his relationship with the woman who he was blessed to call his wife for a far too brief period of time. Knowing it is not fiction only makes the story more moving. The quote above is by Francisco's wife, Aura. It is so true. What you think as you wake up in the morning sends out ripples of energy into the world that influence EVERYTHING and EVERYONE around you. Worth reflecting on what we think about, wouldn't you say?

Yesterday my mother and I baked pumpkin pies. I have yet to taste them. The joy for me was in making them with my mama, and getting to inhale the warm, sweet aroma of the pies baking in the oven and then cooling on the counter while I sat and had a hot cup of black tea with my mama in the kitchen with the back door open into the garden and that late afternoon/early evening golden sunlight falling into the back hall real slow.

Earlier today I sat with my dad and said prayers for a three hour hospital procedure that he had to go do this afternoon, but that ended up taking much longer than expected. It took so long for the anesthesia to wear off that he came home in the midst of neighbourhood tricker treaters. Mom and I practically carried him up the front steps, trying to not scare the kids streaming up and down the sidewalks in our tricker-treating mecca neighbourhood, and into their bedroom, tucked him into bed, fed him chamomile tea through a straw and warmed his icy cold hands up with our own. I thought: this is my dad, and no matter how rarely we connect at the level I wish we could connect, I love him. It's as simple as that. It doesn't matter how close I am to my father...it is scary to see him look so awful--even when I know this time it is nothing too serious. This time. But I know some day it will be, and some day he won't be here any more physically for me to warm his hands and hold the teacup just so, so that he can sip it using a straw. So I sit on his bed and think: "I love you, dad."

It is late. The tricker treaters are all gone home to bed. I am ready to crawl into my own nest and read until I fall asleep. Outside it is finally cool enough to close the windows at night and not boil inside. Not like we are having snow storms that put thousands out of power like they are experiencing on the east coast, but it is cooling off. I am thinking about a story I am trying to write. About a job application I sent out into the universe today. About an editing job I just got helping a friend of a friend with two book projects he is working on. Wondering where I will be come spring. Wondering where my work and heart will lead me. Wondering what I will create tomorrow. I am also thinking that I am grateful for my parents. For the walk I took with my dad yesterday afternoon. For the baking session with my mom. For the chance to cook dinner for my tired mom so she would have something hot to eat when she got home from the hospital tonight with my dad. For the book I am reading, and for Aura's comment: "Thought is an agent of change."

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