Lost Weekend, Found Weekend
New haircut! New haircut! That's how I started my weekend, a fresh start, new hair. I was sorely tempted to chop it all off, but I decided to not be so drastic.
Hair in my eyes. Something to hide behind.
Easter. Saint Patrick's. Two holidays that came and went, and I barely noticed. It's sad not to have a family to celebrate with, but I guess it's less sad than it used to be.
I went to a friend's house this Easter and we made food — so much of it! I was fed asparagus, bread, feta cheese, fresh tomatoes of all hues, and probably six cups of coffee. Eggs, bacon, potato pancakes. Pure generosity. Fueled by coffee and weeks of keeping things bottled inside I talked, and I was listened to. Very nice, to have a listener, and to listen. Back and forth.
After that I came home and was listened to some more, by another friend, who touched on the radiance of fortunate women and those who are less so. Ah, nice.
I called my family, but they weren't home. I had a few similar brushes with experience, near-misses, all a result of my own reluctance. By way of contrast, these brushes inform the real, solid stuff of life. By solid, I mean being sought out on a day that was meant to be spent in company and having a full stomach and achieving satisfaction. I've been starved.
This weekend contained some mystery, too. Someone secretly passed me a note, crumpling it into my palm. Someone else has my favorite hat, and I called him to ask for it back. I wonder if it's on a table, hanging on a hook, given away as a gift, floating down a river.