A giant penis, that’s the statement kite I want.
“Yes!” Her response is instantaneous; the squeal at the tail-end establishes her support conclusively. “Make it inflatable so it whips in the wind. I dare you!” There’s a slight growl in the word dare; it comes when she’s animated and feeling frisky.
My birth mom Joanne joined Evelyn and me at her cabin yesterday eve and we fell easily into our groove; we played our favorite music, learned about each other’s lives, ate good food and deliberated interpersonal challenges.
At one point, she plucked “The Tao Te Ching” from the shelf and read it aloud. (You know how that book is; the words do to the mind and body what Pepto Bismol does to an upset stomach.)
“The sage is a person as chaotic as a muddy torrent. Why ‘chaotic as a muddy torrent’? Because clarity is learned by being patient in the presence of chaos. Tolerating disarray, remaining at rest, gradually one learns to allow muddy water to settle and proper response reveal themselves.”
At 67, Joanne tells me she’s accepting of her slower-paced self. “I see the lasers, peels, and botox, and I know that’s not for me.” Leaving Evelyn and me to build a sand castle, she took off on a long walk down the beach, and when she returned, she showed me three pieces of wood that “spoke to her,” one of which we agreed looked like a duck with a hunter’s cap.
Our conversation tonight, the last before we leave in the morning, left a “telephone wire static” afterglow feeling with me and is one for the books. The vulnerability and courage she shows I cherish. What a gift it is to know her.