A long while. I’ve gotten productive during this Covid state of affairs. I posted a story on a blog on WordPress years ago and have recently began some serious editing. I haven’t seen any of my siblings or cousins who I once saw during holidays and even weekends. So writing is on my front burner where it should have always been. Thanksgiving is going to be almost a curbside occasion with children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren not visiting so much as stopping by, wearing masks and grabbing food in to-go containers. I guess it’s better than not seeing them at all, though there will be many I won’t see. Birthday gatherings and graduations have been via Zoom meetings but that has it’s perks when the meetings are nationally held. So you take the good where you can, look beyond the bad and count your blessings. Happy Thanksgiving to all.
He could be going to church, or he could be just crossing the street.
So we’re in our kitchen making bacon and cinnamon pancakes for breakfast. We cheat a little, not wanting that complete boxed mix, but instead she uses Bisquik flour. She adds, an egg, and 1/2 cup of milk per instructions, then adds grated cinnamon and 2 drops of honey and 1/4 teaspoon of vanilla extract. Hot fluffy pancakes. Crispy bacon.
I’m thinking on how I’ve been in the recesses of her head all our life. I understand this because there have been dark, scary places we’ve gone. Been forced to go. Take the hand of a child, gently in yours, and if not taught better, all her young life, she will follow. So I didn’t fight the closed gate, even now with this freedom, there are things that go deeper, than my depths.
We only have scraps of memories of the night mom was killed. We were there, but like our incidences of sexual abuse, the memories are snatches.
So now, I am the keeper of the key that unlocks the gate, and though I’m not as frightened as she is, I am wary. I peek and peer inside this darkness. I reach out and feel first, least I stumble onto a memory neither she, nor I, am ready for.
I have broken free. Let me rephrase that. She has set me free. I am the ‘her’ who does not hide, who will not bite our ‘collective tongue.’ There will be warm and fuzzy here, but there will be cold and jagged. There will also be shards of glass on a path that will hopefully, be frequently traveled, so please watch your step. There will be an ongoing series of an online relationship between us and a person who has captured our heart as no one has ever captured it before. This will be raw posting because we will be cutting and pasting the actual conversations. Spoiler alert, there is a 35 year age gap between us and this person, and we wouldn’t be making a note of this if we were the younger one. The we, and us on this blog is ‘her’ who has her own blog here on WordPress, and me, who is her ‘mind’, keeping us honest. So the texts we’ll be posting will be, what Chris (our person) says, what she says, and what I am thinking. Other conversations between me (her mind) and her, take place in our kitchen, so we’ve dubbed these posts, Kitchen Blogs, with different subtitles. Most of this will be Chris related, but there are other men in our life, and you’ll learn about them in the kitchen, or other rooms. So come on and join us, let’s see what’s going on, and also, what’s cooking.