“I had dinner with myself 21 times last night. They all showed up, each year of my life. Fifteen came in naive, stuck in his own head. One and two were at the end of the table, taking turns being fed by 16, who’s a little distracted trying to fit in. Eleven wouldn’t stop talking about how he wanted to be a policeman. Seven was soft and gentle, kind of in the corner alone. Nineteen didn’t want to be there and thought about going home…”
-Joshua De Shutter
We are everyone we’ve ever been, but I didn’t realize that when I was 21 like this poet. When I used to write poetry as a teen, I didn’t think deeply about who I was and had been. Now I can look back and see events that shaped me into this person. What would my poem look like? “I had dinner with myself 69 times last night and I showed up on time, oldest responsible child that I am. 18-year-old me was impatiently ready to ditch my family life and experience the excitement of college and living away. 23-year-old me told funny stories about being a first-year teacher while my much more experienced dad grimaced in sympathy. 56-year-old me surrounded myself with friends at dinner, then talked too much (?) about the fears and sadness of widowhood. 69-year-old me circled back around to discuss worries about daughters, grandsons, relationships and health and agreed with my dinner companions that the roller coaster keeps on rolling, up and down, turning and twisting…”
In the meantime, I’ve been trying to protect myself from Mari.
She knew I had left over halibut and was suddenly my best friend. I made the mistake of giving her a little bit and that made her even more aggressive assertive.
I got distracted and by the time I noticed her, she was licking the frosting off my blueberry white chocolate scone. Dang, she’s fast!
In the chillier weather, the tulips have closed up. However, they’re starting to lose petals and we’re in for a nice forecast which will push them over the edge. I’m hoping the bearded irises will bloom soon!
John and I will take advantage of the sun/partial sun to take the camper out Sunday through Tuesday. We’ll be going into the trees here; I’m looking forward to some walks and quiet times. Mari is happily oblivious that she’ll be spending two nights at a Cat Condo at my vet’s. I just don’t trust her alone in the house for that long. She gets lonely–and vindictive!
Tomorrow John and I will drive south to take Mom and Dad’s artwork to my cousin, Linda; she expressed a strong desire to have these since her grandmother Freddie (my grandfather John’s sister) gave them to my parents when they married in 1954. Although I have my parents’ chairs and dining room table, I don’t like these at all; they remind me of Maleficent. Scary!!
I finally checked the dermatology portal to see my results from the biopsy, all written in murky doctor speak, but with Internet help, figured out that the patch on my arm was benign. It was simply a sign of OLD AGE. I’m relieved that it’s not cancer but sigh.
Perhaps that’s why I was inspired to write the short poem about my past. I’m feeling some nostalgia for those younger and more innocent days.
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