I’m in that space now. One foot in a new life, but not fully there—teetering between worlds. My head spins with the newness, yet I find encouragement in the Roberta Hardware store. It’s the kind of place where old men sit and talk about politics and the weather, and where the owner takes you by the hand to corral all you need – the mailbox, screws, and the numbers 879 – before checking out.
One of the loitering men cornered me lovingly, asking what brought us to Crawford County. Not knowing anything about me, he suggested his Baptist church. Not wanting to disappoint my new friend, I didn’t tell him that unless it’s a wedding or a funeral, I won’t be there. But his 14-day trip to Alaska, with an extension cord running from his hotel room down the hall to power his C-PAP, sure was a funny image. Looks like instead of a coffee shop or the library, I’ll frequent the local hardware store when I need a sense of community.
As another day’s curtain draws inward to close, I’m breathing. Being that I’m a rudderless boat, and a homeless lady with a home, my fears are lessening, while others press their noses to the window. There are sand clumps beneath my shoes from a wet summer. Dawn, the duck, waddled up to me, but is actually a boy. He was taken from the flock—a bully, they say—and now he swims and fattens alone.
I want to settle, unlike a shaken snow globe frozen in place. The sound of a song you love is like a back rub soothing tense muscles. I forgot how to play; it must be in my notes somewhere. To imagine worlds outside reality, to spill across the page like an inky fountain pen, to forget to listen and take a side exit to swim in a puddle of petunias.
As we prepare for another night, let’s tuck ourselves in like hot dogs in batter, ready to cook up and wake refreshed and ready. I’ll see you tomorrow. Lots of love your way on this day.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 