On African Violets, Lily Pads and Gifts from the Universe — L.
Saturday, July 1st, 2023, Shabbos:
Wow, that African Violet has become my most expensive plant, which is ironic considering I got her for free.
It’s just that her leaves have started to die, one by one. One starts to get soft, then droop…by the next day it’s touching dirt, and within a week it is nothing but a shriveled up piece of old dead thing.
Then, I’ll cross my fingers hoping it was an isolated occurence. Just when I get my hopes up…another leaf droops, and the cycle begins again.
After the last time, I pulled the thing up by the roots. It had this really thick big root with barely any tendrils coming out. I didn’t see the root rot, if that’s what was causing the leaves to decay.
I stuck it in water while I could figure out what to do.
And it’s been happy! Over a month has gone by, and the leaves are still intact while the plant slowly turns into a fish!
So I finally bit the bullet and paid $20 for the fancy-shmancy African Violet soil on Amazon, which apparently has the right PH.
Then I spent another $20 on a beautiful ceramic pot with proper drainage. (It was at the plant shop on St. Catherine. I figured I’d give a local store some of my business instead of always going to the dollar store. I felt very virtuous…until I reached the counter, where there was a tip jar. Which I ignored, except on the credit card machine…it also asked if you wanted to tip. Who tips people at boutiques?! Is this a new thing???)
Anyway, worst case scenario, the plant refuses to stay alive despite my own investments…I can still use the soil and the ceramic pot for something else.
The African Violet came from Karen last winter, before she and Jessie headed off to Mexico.
We’re not currently speaking.
So…the universe did something pretty special.
All week, you know, I’ve been processing the whole Etienne thing.
On Wednesday, after Mommy left, something released. I think it just finally sunk in that she was probably right and I probably haven’t lost him.
(Estrella said the same thing. I told her I didn’t want to talk about it so she should just read my blog, which she did. And then she said it didn’t sound like things were over, just that I needed to be vulnerable, which she knew could be hard while trying to stop orbits. I love Estrella. She speaks my language and gives me the most affirming advice in the universe).
More than that, though, I think it sunk in that either way I’m headed to better times. Because I’m so fucking done with my old way of relating with men. I’m ready to be strong and confident.
That was the thing Patrick didn’t get. I mean it’s all well and good that he wants his women to be Sex Goddesses…but this world is awful to women. It’s not easy for us to own our sexuality. Not one fucking bit.
I’m going to, though. What Mommy said is right. If I want to fix the patriarchy, first I have to heal myself.
Okay so anyway. The universe.
I had a massage with Naomi yesterday. She cancelled on Monday because she had this really bad headache (she also gets attacked regularly by Migraine Monsters, similarly to Mommy).
Actually, she didn’t cancel at first. At first she sent a message saying she felt so awful she couldn’t move, so could we reschedule for a couple hours from then.
I have been a sad bystander to Naomi’s misplaced optimism before, and I told her no thank you, we’ll postpone and she could tell me when she was better.
Sure enough, she wasn’t better later, either. What’s more, she left no fewer than three hysterical messages and phone calls.
I feel bad for Naomi, I really do. Except I also know enough about her life to know that she is not taking some pretty practical steps toward feeling better, and I also know that although she acts like she wants advice, she really doesn’t. I mean, there was a point when I tried to be her friend and she didn’t want that either. Which now I’m relieved about, because I don’t think it would work.
So I’ll feel bad for her from a distance.
Yesterday, though, the universe smiled on us, and I headed to her place for a massage.
And while she was running late and I was standing on the steps…who should I see in the distance but a beautiful man with perfect posture walking down St. Denis toward me.
Baby Girl left her backpack and took off running.
There was a hug, and a kiss.
There was another hug.
I felt different. Lighter. More open, but less raw. More vulnerable and more authentically myself.
I hoped he could feel it. I knew I could.
I could also feel him better. I felt all this suspicion melting away from me. I could receive his words and his smile.
I think that so many of the people I love disappointing me has eroded at my Trust.
But the thing that I’m learning is that Trust isn’t some vague notion. It’s not abstract or ambiguous.
It’s your ability to be vulnerable because you know, from time and experience, that your vulnerability will be cared for. By somebody who cares, and knows how.
I don’t know what he felt, but those are all the things I felt in a hug.
Naomi showed up a couple minutes later. I headed for my massage and he headed to work.
And then after the massage…there he was again. Just finishing with work at that exact moment.
It couldn’t have been better if we had planned it.
He looked tired.
“I am tired,” he affirmed. “I wanted to keep working, but I had to stop. You remember my old computer that broke? I’m going to go see if I can get it fixed. But I need to rest…I think before that I’ll have a quick cat nap.”
“Would you like a lap?” I offered, remembering Greece…he has the ability to lie down for 20 minutes in broad daylight and completely recharge. I have provided him a pillow in the form of my legs on more than one occasion.
“I mean, only if you want me to,” I amended hurrily.
“Yes, I think that would be nice,” came his slow but smiling reply.
We made our may up St Denis.
“I had a talk with Mistress Me and Super Boss Bitch,” I said in my most Baby Girl of voices. “And they said I can hang out with you.”
“Did they now,” said Etienne, chuckling.
“Yes!” I said, jumping up and down. “They said I could, and I said that had been my idea all along, and they said, well, sometimes I get a little sensitive so best to be careful, and I said that their FACE gets a little sensitive!”
Etienne laughed again.
I felt free.
We found a little spot off of St Denis on Duluth. He put his head on my lap and I watched a guy on a ladder painting the toy store sign by hand.
When Etienne fell asleep, the letters spelt G-r-a-n…
By the time he awoke, maybe thirty minutes later, we had “G-r-a-n-d-e O-u”. It will eventually read, Grande Ourse. Big bear.
A male-bodied person with makeup and a bright pink jumpsuit sat down in front of us. I could hear her/him/they talking about their boyfriends to a girl-looking friend.
Behind me, a homeless woman stared at the clouds.
Families walked by with ice cream cones.
I closed my eyes eventually. If he can feel me when I’m silent-raging, can he feel this, too? I wondered. Because in my head, right that moment, I didn’t feel mad or sad. I felt content. Peaceful. Calm.
I made the bubble as big as I could around myself. Then I pillowed his cute little prickly head and it felt mutually beneficial, because I could be his pillow and he could be the big man no-one’s gonna mess with…so we could both relax. So we could stay in our little bubble forever and ever.
Eventually he woke up.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Thank you,” I said. I told him about the diary entries I’d found, the Maudite Sagesse d’Etienne. Because, you know, I had been doing some detective work.
“As one does,” he grinned at me.
“It’s like we had a Berlin Wall up between us,” I said. “But now it’s collapsed and I can just…feel you. When I was reading my diary, I remembered all the times you’ve been there for me over the last couple of years, and I know it hasn’t been easy all the time. And I’m sorry. And I’m also really glad when I get a chance to be there for you.”
And then there were a couple more kisses, and we parted ways.
It was the best gift from the universe ever. A chance encounter, a moment for authentic connection, no pressure, not too long. We didn’t say when we would see each other next. We both still have a lot of work to do.
When I got home, I decided to check my email just in case.
And there it was. The fifth client.
June 30th was my deadline.
Five was my goal.
On June 30th, at 12:30pm EST, I met it.
The universe is smiling on Baby Girl and Super Boss Bitch as they head toward their vacation.
Sunday, July 16th, 2023:
I just rescued a wasp.
It had been crawling around this screened-in gazebo for two days, looking for a way out.
I offered it the remains of a dried daylily flower to climb on, and either weakness or confidence led him to trust me to find his way to the door.
It feels better to write from inside a wasp-free gazebo, anyway.
I changed the table’s direction so now I can type facing the lake. From my vantage point I can see the partially submerged dock leading out into the water…wildflowers on the shore. Frogs croaking all around me. And lily pads. Endless, endless lily pads.
Maybe one day they’ll call this the Lorelai Gazebo. Wouldn’t that be nice.
Haha just as I wrote that, an enormous mosquito whirred by, just to put me in my place, I guess. No, you are not Robert Frost. Get a grip.
I’m a little disappointed Marisol and Andrés stood me up. They told me last week they’d reserved…hang on. I have to go kill a mosquito.
Aaah that’s better. Dare I hope that was the only mosquito in the gazebo?
During this inaugural week of my war against the patriarchy, the casualties have been a) my skin and b) the bugs.
Anyway. I raised all my drawbridges. And I mean all of them. I keep pinching myself to remind myself it’s real. Then I remember that some of the demons have followed me here in my head and that’s why I still feel so shitty. That was the point, right? To heal myself before I go out and heal and repair the world?
Willow is back home, now. The visit was a whopping success except for the part where it wiped me out completely.
Being with her was fucking hard. Soooo fucking hard.
I tried to just scrawl the triggers into my diary as soon as they appeared and then focus on enjoying my niece and living an example for her to follow.
But god, the things that came out of her mouth…
My brand new Magical Rainbow Drawbridge only allows calls out, not in. That’s how I found out that Andrés and Marisol weren’t coming. The thunderstorms scared them away. And it’s true that the weather channel had been predicting a 90% chance of Sunday rain all week.
Guess how much it has been not raining today?
About 90%.
Outrageous.
I don’t feel exactly alone, though. The tiny house I’ve rented is really on a tiny village of sorts. There is a big hall where the residents dine together, and a pool I can swim in. Then there are little trails winding all over the property…
Damn it, I’ve spotted another mosquito.
That’s the only problem with nature, I swear. The goddamn bugs.
Anyway. I’m not exactly alone but I kind of am.
The first few days were just about breathing and healing my body, because I was so fucking spent after Willow’s visit, and also had suddenly developed tendonitis of my entire right arm.
I pulled out every single shoulder exercise I knew on Wednesday and Thursday, and on Friday the weak acid feeling started to dissipate. I’ve stayed strong with the exercises and it appears to be working.
Thank god.
I think I’m going to end this blog now and start a new one. See you on the flip side!
Love,
Lorelai on Vacation
PS The African Violet started dying again. :( I guess it just prefers to be a water plant.
