December has- without really looking, probably been the skimpiest, entry-wise, of all the months this year since I began blogging last March. It has been pointed out that there have been 50 entry months and 8 entry months, a sure sign of ebb and flow which is common in everyone's lives. I DID notice and even came close to mentioning it- saying something like..
"Sorry, your readership is important to us and we will get back to you as soon as life hocks up something amusing, visually stimulating- oh, and something that by writing it, won't invade someone else's private moments by writing about it in a public forum. Please stand by, or have a seat- it may be awhile and it looks like those shoes might hurt." oh "Beeep."
The interesting thing is that the 32 entry month/8 entry month statistic was revealed to me and taken for granted, as well as the references to early, early blog entries. Discounted as just someone trying to catch up with me- and my life. Bit of hubris actually- as this particular individual has a life which barely allows for a change of socks and a laundry drop off. And the collaborator also has a life pretty chock full of child, school and dealing with a new life and the challenges it brings. But I have always heard that if you want to get something done- give it to a busy person. If its a biggie- give it to two busy persons and watch them multi task by not only getting it done but by becoming really good friends in the process.
You little co-conspirators, you.
So it was my favorite little guy's fifth birthday and paired with Christmas there was a pretty big haul on the table for him as well as a natal-fest feast that would make Rachael Ray wince (this didn't take 20 minutes, babe- deal with it- go down a shot of EVO wouldja?) I volunteered ( and dragged an ever-willing VLH and his brand new food processor along for the ride) to make hummus and grill vegetables. The work was pretty minor for a former chef and his amateur assistant to knock off with a mere 2 jugs of very strong coffee. We finished the required cooking activities and VLH took the lead, heading over to Z's apartment chatting merrily on his cel phone to one person or another. I scaled the stairs to the apartment- Z lives in a 4th floor walk-up- some days- like at the end of a month of sheer culinary indulgence and zero trips to the gym- scaling the stairs to Z's house feels like scaling Annapurna- in heels.
We arrived and stood panting in the hallway and Z opened the door simultaneously greeting us, complaining about the cat, pointing out that the garbage needed taking out AND did we want anything to eat. I ran into the kitchen- which looked like the Falklands after the invasion- small and ...well it wasn't covered in goats but with all the dishes pans and other party prep remains- goats might have been an improvement. I grabbed 2 sausage out of a waiting pan and stuck one in my mouth and held the other in my hand as I walked back to the living room to offer assistance to Z and a sausage to VLH. Z stood in the middle of the maelstrom holding what looked like a pair of dictionaries clutched to her chest. VLH turned down my sausage offer, which should have tipped me off- and directed me to Z, who insisted I wipe my hands clean. I thought about wiping them on the back of my jeans, but at this juncture drawing attention to that area of my body- NOT my best side at the end of the holiday season, was just not prudent. I scarfed the 2nd sausage (waste-not, waist, also not.) and found a napkin and did a serviceable job of cleaning my greasy paws.
I held my hands out and Z placed the two 500 page tomes in my upturned hands- one book red, the other deep green. The green one had gold letters embossed into the cover. In Times New Roman it read: "The Ephemerist's Notebook" and on the second line optically centered "Volume One". The red book read, in Times New Roman golden letters "The Ephemerist's Notebook, Volume 2"
I'm crying as I write this. and I did then as well. I could not speak. I could not breathe. I know Z spoke to me. I know VLH did as well. I cannot tell you what they said. I have been struck speechless before as you know. Strangers saying with their actions that they care for me, that will take away my ability to come up with some glib comment. This took away my breath and I was not quite sure I could take anything more in- not even air. The letters glinted at me from the pristine hard covers. This...book. THESE books. I could not wrap my head around the idea that I had done this, that THESE were me... and mine. And then I looked at the faces of those two- one who has stood by me for almost twenty years and literally kept me alive through some of its darkest moments, been more than a friend and better than any sister could be to me and then to the face so new and so incredibly dear to me, my precious, precious and brave yov. The yov that has always been one step braver in loving me.
It wasn't just that they were bound- though seeing my writing as books- as opposed to some glorified Myspace page or Facebook ego trip (hot or not- you decide!) And more that hearing that they both felt this work was worth the tremendous effort to get this done. It was an incredible visual. This amazing year in two volumes. Special. Three-dimensional. And mine.
Eventually I stopped crying and was able to whisper my thanks. The books had to be put away as they brought on a new spate of tears every time I saw them and my red tear-stained visage was frightening the little party-goers and putting them off the remaining sausages.
I asked VLH to put the books in his car as we were going to see Fred for dinner in a glorious restaurant in New Canaan called Aloi and I wanted him to see this amazing gift. It was my one-year anniversary of knowing Fred and I wanted to celebrate the changes he had brought into my life and introduce him to the newest one. At dinner, which was incredible, we talked about the nature of loving, and Fred said something- he said that a particular person we were discussing "just wanted to be appreciated for the love they were giving".
At the time the phrase had a different context and it was not until just now that I realized that was what the real gift of the books was. Recognition of the love I had been giving, returned to me- in red, green and gold.
Oh my.
To any one who reads this- from Brooklyn to Helsinki. Happy New Year.
:) X
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