Wednesday, January 29, 2014

Secret Desires -



What I would have been - 

A Sundance model - but living that model life in real life - expensive clothes that aren't flashy, leisure time to bring home pine cones, in a little red wagon, to decorate the fireplace mantle, for Saturday's dinner with 22 close friends, just to celebrate pine cones. And I've plenty time to change into my black velour weekend pants and Robert Redford blouse, so I look refreshed for guests.

Or - I barely have time to brush my teeth before my lover and I set off for a day of adventuring - in an open-air rickety bus that's overflowing with people discussing their lives in a language not even our guide understands. Of course this is followed by being stranded in a small mountainside/seaside community because we stopped to visit with a cute old man sitting on a bench outside of the barbershop on the corner, we lost our interpreter, but no worries, we communicate with our eyes, hands, and the community falls in love with us and asks us to stay and gather stories of the village elders and youngers. And we do.

Or - I spend my days sitting at the desk writing, because my publisher says I need to get the 3rd book in my series out soon - so many readers begging for the next, and I'm distracted by a faint breeze on my linen curtains which brings with it a light scent of magnolias. I look out my window and see family coming up my walk with empty baskets crying, "Come and gather flowers." I leave my desk, saying, "Fans can wait," and hurry to answer their call - knowing family and soft breezy magnolia scented days can't. 

Better yet - A class of 25 inquisitive students asks me to tell them, one more time, how to form a thesis statement, the difference between your and you're, why their Sunday dinner tradition is unique and worthy of rediscovering. I run up 72 stairs, jump into my mid-sized car, and zig-zag through traffic to lunch, where my love is waiting, the table set for two, with candles burning, even in the daytime. While he cleans up our quick meal, I drop my boots, take off my socks, and begin thinking about my research on the topic for the day. I sit down at my desk, the desk he made, his hands polishing the wood until it glows. I get one sentence typed, one bit of information on the paper, and my phone rings. "Grandma, I love you." And the moment is set in stone, time stands still, and I remember why I'm alive - it is because my world is alive.

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