Mid-February

I went over to San Antonio to spend the weekend with my sister Lattie and her husband Michael. It was Super Bowl weekend and a local restaurant was having a big party. Now I have about as much interest in football as a frog has in a plastic worm. However, if I am going to be a sister, I have to do the things my sister does. Besides I like new experiences. The truth is the party was such a flashing change of reality that it definitely amused me. I even won a plastic life-sized Dallas Cowboy player to use as a scarecrow in my garden. However, my nephew Justin wanted it to clutter up his room for a while.

As I am packing to leave Lattie's, I receive a phone call from my brother's wife in Houston. She tells me a family friend needs some temporary help in his office. I had already signed up with a couple of agencies, hoping to do some editing work, but have had no luck. So temporary secretarial work is the logical next step. I phone Avi and commit to working for the next couple of weeks. So I drive straight to an office in Houston from San Antonio. Funny thing is I work a day and a half and come down with a terrible cold. I never get colds-but this sure is a bad one. The fact that the office was about forty degrees when I arrived in the morning may have be a contributing factor.

Heading back home to rest and recover, I ask myself, Now what am I going to do when I get home? Answer: Get your working wardrobe together, so that you can go back to Houston. With those inner words, I experience an incredible movement and stirrings in my chest that feels like some dark congestion. I wonder, Is this a manifestation of the split of living the life "they" prescribe, rather than the one I feel is me? Conveniently, "their" life is one I did live long enough that I'm competent at it. I am grateful for that training.

At home, I immediately get out my homeopathic remedies and start a cleansing fast to send the cold on its way. Although some ideas for writing are buzzing through my head, I'm forced to rest because I feel extremely lousy. While lying on my pillow, my head starts sifting through some of my old stuff. Who am I? What am I doing here? I am so tired of doing things. I do not want to do any thing. I just want to be a fairy godmother giving love and light to everyone—a muse inspiring people to their own creativity.

Conveniently, I recover quickly and am soon back in the office. My niece is away at college, so I am fortunate to have her bedroom at my brother's place to stay in while I working in the city. Since my sister-in-law maintains her territorial rights to the kitchen and has the help of a full-time maid for household tasks, evenings remain quiet and peaceful although they certainly are not creative. Taking advantage of Michelle's book case stacked with books from college literature classes, I spend several evenings curled up in the womb of her waterbed reading her copy of Conrad's Heart of Darkness. His haunting descriptions really touch me deeply. I would like to think it could directly effect what I am writing-except I'm not writing now. My writing mind seems far away when I am working the 8 to 5 routine.

I just can't do both because the me that writes is so different from the me that deals with the world. At least I am aware of the division. Maybe someday I will be able to knit them together better. Or is the "working me" just a front, a costume to dress myself in when it seems necessary? I continue to wonder who I am when I am closest to being my real self-not in an existential sense but the most viable, creative me in my relation to the world. Who would I be if I had had no conditioning and had just encountered life sponteneously?

Nevertheless, one learns important things about people in the city and this trip is no exception. Through various interactions with married friends, it is poignantly brought to my attention that if you are married you are supposed to love only one man-or woman, as the case may be. No wonder I never remarried—or wanted an exclusive relationship. And no wonder the divorce rate is so high. It's so much lovelier to have many friends, both men and women, in one's life. If people want to take on the challenge of being all things to one person—let them play out their illusions.

I remain more practical, for I receive so many different realities from the many men I know. I guess I prefer to be a helpmate to many instead of to just one. There are at least a dozen wonderful men in my life with whom I converse regularly on a meaningful level. And I have never slept with any of them, yet, because of our in depth communication, I am closer to them than most married couples are to each other. (Yes, men do communicate when women listen.) One man forever? Anything every day forever? Spare me the boredom—and especially the trips that manifest as a result of the boredom. Humans will go to such indescribable measures to put a little drama in their drab lives! Oh dear, let me hold my tongue. Suffice to say: Marriage tends to bring out the worst in everyone. I want to be my best!

Being without a partner forces one to rely on oneself. To rely on oneself means that one has to find out more about “one's self.” It's a continual challenge to face my inadequacies and limitations and allow them to be part of me, instead of having someone fill in for my weak spots, or, worse still, gloss over and join me in pretending they are not there. On the positive side, I get to test my creativity and courage. I think it is the only way for me to find out who I am in all my numerous varied unique facets.

I had taken the temporary job thinking, it's February, I may as well be in town working during the winter weather. To my dismay, the sun shines daily at a delightful seventy-eight degrees. Does spring start in February here? If this is spring, summer will surely arrive soon—too soon.

Early Saturday morning, I head home where signs of spring are silently waiting to greet me. First thing I make myself a cup of tea and sit outside for a time to get acclimated to the peace and quiet. Otherwise, I could continue at the same city speed and not even recognize the little paradise that surrounds me. Although I have home tasks to do before I turn around to race back to town tomorrow night, I consciously honor myself by taking time to settle and acknowledge the luxurious green robe that Mother Nature is spreading over the countryside.

As I'm walking around the yard, I have to take care since wild flowers are sprouting up everywhere. I have no idea what most of them are, but I am looking forward to discovering each and every specimen. Undoubtedly, some will turn out to be only weeds and some may give only a nice display of background foliage. With my neurosis for digging out every new sprig of a new plant I see to transplant into my personal garden, I can hardly keep my fingers out of the dirt. It's my way of becoming acquainted with all the local genera.

On Sunday evening, I have all of my things packed to return to the city. I do feel a dilemma. I am now sure that my essential duty in life is to recognize and love every green sprout in all its glory—nothing more. In agony, I cry with that incredible poet and human being, Rabindranath Tagore, “If Thou must needs bind me with work, why then must thou distract me with so much beauty?” It's interesting that I never call my writing at the computer for hours for days on end “working.”

Intending to inhale one last breath of peace and quiet in my fresh green world, I go out on the deck. As I am standing there, my ears automatically perk up, for they detect a strange noise coming from the woods to the south of me. I figure it must be the coyotes howling in the distance, yet the clamor seems to be getting closer and closer.

Then I recognize the sound. Geese! It's been ages since I've heard a flock of geese. Even though it is so early in the year, this flock is heading north. I am enraptured as I behold a flock of over one hundred birds in long wavy lines weaving back and forth in a giant vee-formation. My heart expands with wonder and delight as I watch the undulating spectacle. A smile spreads over my face, then I begin to chuckle. What a reward for my efforts to come home for only one night. I wouldn't have missed this moment for a thousand city lights.

I continue standing in awe as I behold the motion that keeps all things in a flux-renewing and surpassing itself in an unending quest for life. Surely the world knows how I love it. None of the other stuff really matters. All the little details of my life may be forgotten, but I shall always remember this moment. I watch the birds as they shrink, then finally disappear into the vast blue emptiness.