"M and M Always" is scrawled on the white side of a cardboard piece of a Lipton Tea Bag Economy size box. Costco's finest. Recycling are us! I found it smiling at me from the back of the refrigerator after he left early June to go to camp for a month. He's back now. The cardboard was damp and perhaps some indigo stains from the purple yam and black Forbidden Rice with coconut milk glormph I'm fond of making as a sweet treat had found their way onto the heart and smiley face.
M and M have, it seems, been together always. Since 1972 anyway... more than half my lifetime and of his. My little brother then nine, now fifty-six and a half, served M & Ms at our wedding. He thought it was the neatest thing that his big sister would marry a man whose name also began with M.
So here we are 47 years later, leaving love notes for one another when work or volunteer gigs or writing conferences do us part. Not sure if he even found all the notes I packed into his shirt and pants pockets, socks and sleeping bag. Oh, well. Some were found. That matters. We don't want to be outdone in the showing love to one another department.
Why is that?
A doe and her fawn peruse, browse, then careen away, when they see me watering this morning, to the other side of the street.
So sweet to see their heads - like pigeons do - thrusting forward with each step they take. I wonder what their heads do when they run? They love the grasses I've planted. One is totally gone, the dent in the earth shows where the tuft was. The other is nibbled down to the nubs, but still there, and this morning I see a new sprig escaping and pushing itself up, growing next to the original.
I'm trying to craft an "S" shaped path from curb down the slight incline to the cement path that runs along the front of the house from driveway to the planter wall that runs parallel to the house, just outside the kitchen windows. Outlined in brick salvaged from a neighbors house, (they didn't want them), the first attempt was way too wide; the second too narrow. This morning's outline is closer to what I imagined. I think the deer approve.
Humming bird feeder has to be moved on account of ant attack. I hang it by its "S" hook from an upward thrusting twig of the plum tree instead of from the piece of recycled phone cord some distance away which is black with thirsty, gluttonous ants. We'll see if the hummers stop shaking their heads every time they take a sip on the wing or sit on the feeder for a longer drink these hot July days. Did I say hot? I meant to say June Gloom has not let go its grip. We're in the 50s these early mornings. I put on my winter coat over my pajamas to water this morning. Front yard at least. No one can see me in the back that I care about... so PJs work just fine. It's cold alright! The purple agapanthus and purple wisteria so beautiful against their dark green foliage. My lips, too, are purple. Summer? Hah! Wait 'til October.
This morning, I'm going in early to CCMP to help translate for a gentleman who had a run-in with a non-Spanish-speaking dentist paid by Medi-Cal to pull all his upper teeth. Not a one left. Medi-Cal pays for only HALF of a total set of chompers. One complete denture either upper or lower. So they pulled every one of this fellow's upper teeth, even though nearly all of them were of sound health. There were two teeth that were abscessed Why pull all the rest? Because it makes the Insurance Companies' CEOs rich. The fellow didn't understand what he was going to have done. They put him under general anesthetic and he couldn't complain until it was all over. Disgusting what our health care system has become. He's been without teeth up there for fourteen months! If you don't have the dough to pay for procedures and don't speak the language, and don't have an advocate, you are a target for malpractice of grand proportions - a pawn in the industry that's raking in money hand over tooth. Coalition of Concerned Medical Professionals (CCMP) is lending a hand... all volunteer, not a penny of government monies, very grass roots, 43 years old.
Hands... My beloved is going to have thumb reconstruction surgery on his right hand sometime in August. The opposable digit dislocated while pressing the "on" button of the washing machine - a clear indication that housework may hurt you! Don't do it! (Actually, I hear him bustling in the kitchen right now, putting away the dishes - single-handedly - as I write.) He's such a thoughtful guy and has learned miraculously much about navigating without opposable thumbs and how to do so many things with his non-dominant hand. After the right hand heals, he'll have to have the left thumb reconstructed as well. Sigh. Old-Age ain't for sissies! That's for sure. At least we'll have a nice garden to sit in when we're old Old OLD! Will it be too cold, I wonder.
One more thought this Tuesday writing of My Monday Muse... A gal from Church of Last Resort shared a technique that worked for her to ease acute grief she was feeling around the recent death of her mother. Her counselor said, this doesn't work for every one, but it works for many...
Take a piece of paper and fold it in half. With your dominant hand, write questions and statements to your lost person. Walk away. Sometime later, when you come back to it, use your non-dominant hand to "reply" as if you are the deceased. Most of us are pretty adept at channeling the voice of loved ones - or even family and "friends" of whom we were not so fond. I'm going to give it a try.
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