The last thing I saw before I turned out the light last night was NM's face. FaceTime really is a beautiful thing and since I have no experience of anything larger than my iPhone 6, that little screen is absolutely enough. He can't tell when I'm running my thumb over his face though. Or at least I don't think he can. I suppose if he reached forward and touched his ginormous large monitor (I try not to think about my over large self on his over large screen), I would know if only because I'd see his hand coming toward me but I think this is more a woman's gesture and in small moments of extraordinary vulnerability, an act of tenderness is a hard thing to put out there, for a woman like me, maybe.
I was extraordinarily vulnerable last night; there's just been so much, well, stuff. We talked about processing the trauma of an accident and I thought about this and then I thought, well, the fallout was in some respects far more traumatic and I haven't really looked at that at all. I can think of far worse things in my life than being the last car in a three car pile up and walking away from it but he does have a point; I didn't, or have not, processed that at all. I wonder if my daughter processed her accident? You should look at the pictures even if you don't read the post. It's telling that I've buried it half way down a post about the garden where I talk about abundance and gratitude. THEN I get to the fear. I wasn't exactly facing it head on. This one? She should have died. Crawled out the back window and stood in the middle of the road in a daze until some guy came around the corner and called it in. She cut her foot on a pebble.
So the last thing I saw before I turned out the light was my guy. I didn't want to end the call, I wanted to cry. I didn't though, for a number of reasons.
What I don't have are the words to express the gratitude for being able to look at that face. It seems like such a small thing, doesn't it? Nope. That would be one of the not so small things.
I associate this man with snow and being snowed in. I associate him with bad weather and the months of January and February, February mostly. I associate him with anticipation, newness, rebirth, fear of loss, not being enough, loss of self, sitting still, self-discovery, self-respect, hope, conflict, sometimes incredible conflict, perseverance, snow, ice, walking in new black boots, falling in love (finding out I was actually capable), risk, excitement, shoveling a shitload of snow, dancing in a room so big and full of so many people that more than once I got disoriented and couldn't tell where the head of the line was, and being physically close to someone while fully clothed (fully coated, actually), in the middle of a very dense crowd while experiencing one of the most intimate moments of my life. Last year I remember finding a florist still open at the onset of our last bad storm and driving 10 miles maybe to pick up a box of violet roses because I was pretty sure no one had ever given him a box of violet roses for Valentine's Day. God knows I'd never given anyone a box of violet roses for Valentine's Day and as much as I despise the commercialism of that particular holiday I am periodically driven to grand romantic gestures and that was one of them. I left my driveway to the storm and drove North with the box in the back of my car. Those flowers are still hanging, dried, by his back door.
Like the sea glass from Cape Breton in the bowl from Bar Harbor on the bookcase where I drop my keys in his apartment, these are not really small things.
The fact that I have heat, hot water and light this morning; these are small things. They are nice things, they are comfortable things and I was very happy to have them when the alarm went off. Actually, I was very happy to see the hall light every time I woke up last night which was fairly frequent for a couple of stupid reasons but all manageable. Not having heat, hot water and light would have been temporary and a minor pain in the ass. We were prepared. The heat in the house was cranked, the drapes were closed, I don't even know how many gallons of water are still in the kitchen (there's another wave coming), and there's enough snow to bring in and melt for chicken water and toilet water should we start to run low. There is firewood and when we have to deal with the cold, we actually can deal with the cold. The pipes freezing worry me but I suppose you deal with that when you have to. I'm about to cave on the generator, at least a portable that will keep the furnace going but since I have to put wheels under my ass first, well, I'll be doing that first.
So those are small things. My car is a small thing. What came after and how I processed or have failed to process or need to figure out how to process, that is a not so small thing but in the larger picture, it is also, not so big.
The man walking on the beach looking for more sea glass because he still hasn't got enough of it? THAT is a not so a small thing. I wish I had a photograph of the overflowing bowl. He has found something beautiful and in his world truly unique and he has yet to put it down. I hope he never does.
and now, apparently I do... (he needs another bowl)