Wednesday, December 4, 2013

on writing each day

Today, I saw fear in the eyes of a hoarder as they said all things that hoarders-in-denial would say.  I witnessed the terror in their eyes as they spoke how it was absolutely necessary that family not enter the house without them present.  With trembling eyes they explained that to allow said family members to go through the home that this person shared with their late parents made them feel like a scared animal backed into a corner.  They went on and on, rationalizing their need to process and control the execution, making excuses for the length of time the project has taken and why they didn’t need any assistance.

I don’t write this jokingly, because even in listening, I felt some of that terror, I sensed the extent of the gripping power this home filled with things had over this individual.  It was in the eyes. Eyes a powerful. A strange presence lingered.  I have never witnessed anything like it.


Today, from the window, I watched the rain fall on foggy city streets all decked out with Christmas cheer.  I watched the sun sink below the horizon and then a seemingly sleepy downtown turned into a rows and rows of bright squares before the work day ended. All the people filed out of the buildings and into cars and out of the parking garages, until tomorrow


Today, I spoke with a dear friend who is a new mother.  I noticed again the way  motherhood makes her shine with a so much light. I mean, it’s true from most, but with her, it’s radiant.  Do you know what I mean? It’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.


Tonight, in the last minutes before tucking him into bed, I listened to my five year old tell me about his first professional haircut.  All the ordinary details of a  big black cape, hair dryer that was like a fan to blow away the hair, the big mirror, and  the chair that turns round and round.  It sounded magical.