That wasn’t here.

I’m surrounded.

I’m surrounded by four years of change. Like that fishtank in the corner of the living room. That wasn’t there before. The guppies surely weren’t alive four years ago. Nor were the cats that are curled at the edge of the couch with their paws stretched out toward the fire.

My husband certainly wasn’t here for years ago. At least he wasn’t here in this house on the couch next to me working on emails and waiting for the short ribs he made us to be finished in the slow cooker.

That red blanket. That was here. I got that blanket, made from scratchy bright red wool when I graduated from high school. I lettered in Academics. They gave us letter blankets instead of the letter jackets they gave athletes. I suppose they thought we would just curl up on the couch. Four years ago, I put that red blanket it in the car when I drove up here from Texas.

The white bowl on the coffee table that’s shaped like a leaf, that’s new. My husband and I bought that at a garage sale in Kenwood. It was on the coffee table in our first apartment, and now it’s on the coffee table in our new house.

That cyanotype print of feathers, that’s new. And the skull? I collect skulls now? Ok, yes. I collect skulls. And the potted plants. I was never good at potted plants. But I seem to be keeping so many alive. That hairy fern next to the fish tank is nice. The grape leaf fern though… seen better days, I think.

Wow. And the moon from that window.

It’s like I’m waking up.

Sometimes I come back to this blog. I read it, and then, after I’ve scrolled and scrolled, and read so many back entries, I look up. Right then it’s not the memories in these posts that seem far away; it’s the room I’m in. The cats and the guppies and the white leaf bowl on the table. The hairy fern. I shake myself. I know I love the place. I can feel that fullness like a warm meal. All I have to think about is my husband’s fingers running through my hair, and it’s like magic. I’m here again.

But how did the man who wrote this blog land here on this couch. I wonder how I’ve been in all of these places and how they could possibly be the same story.

Sitting down to write about it is like standing at the edge of the ocean. I look out, and I’m terrified and a little joyful and full of questions.


And here I thought I was going to return to this blog by writing about yesterday’s ladybug.

One Comment

  1. jo douglas

    good to hear your voice again old friend.

    with affection and respect,

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