Skip to main content

Featured

the first

The yarmarka (farmer's market) is about to close. Some of the people are already packing up, offering their last bruised tomatoes at half-price to anyone walking past them.  I am wandering, staring at bunches of herbs, at the same old options - cabbage, pepper, potato, garlic, apple, cucumber. But then I see a pile of peas. The season must have come early this year. I buy a kilo, and some mint. I know what is for dinner. We have not had it in eleven months.

At home, I rip the bag open, showing them to V. She stands by the kitchen table, eyes wide. I crack one open, showing her the little rounds inside. She plucks one out, her pinky pointing to the ceiling.
"Try it." I tell her.
She does, but she does not like it.

I pull out a bowl for them. She jumps up and down a few times. V always wants to help in the kitchen. I pull her to my lap, and we begin pulling them out from the shells. She learns quickly, tossing them with a flourish into the bowl, a few cascading to the flo…

"None of us are Free"

That's Solomon Burke, singing in the dark in my studio.
And then he says "One of us are chained."

If one of us is chained, none of us are free.

It's more than a provocative thing to crow about, on a darker blues compilation I recently discovered. The world is getting very small. I share thoughts, perceptions and jokes with people thousands of miles away. My night is their morning, and we laugh as one. There is something really comforting about this. I may walk alone, pulling my scarf close to my throat on strange sidewalks - - but I am surrounded by people that care.

I recently threw a golden ruble into the street. It had rested in my left pocket for almost eight years. It was supposed to bring me luck, and I protected it religiously. I did let anyone touch it. In truth, I do not think it brought me anything but heartache and false hope. One night a few weeks ago, I passed some street musicians and randomly decided to give them a handful of the lucky money from my left pocket. The sheepish, mumbling fellows dropped their guitars and chased me down the passageway to thank me and shake my hand. I suddenly realized the golden ruble was one of the coins I had given them. In a heartbeat, they had inspected the change and realized I had given them some gold. The dark haired one quickly gave me the coin back - -he knew it was a mistake. Of course, I felt relieved and went on my way.

It was later that very same night that I realized the coin was desperately trying to get away from me, and I had screwed up a beautiful escape plan. I promptly went out on the balcony and threw the golden coin into the darkness. It fell on some grass, or a clump of dirt. Not as poetic, but hopefully free.

Maybe someone will find it in the spring, I thought.

Comments

brenda said…
yeah, like me, maybe. Find it in the spring, i mean. i would so love to be there, m. i miss it. but you, you are my lifeline. Even in the very dark times.

Popular Posts

best personal blogs
best personal blogs