Listening to Night Ride through the Caucasus by Loreena McKennitt.
The day passed.
Nothing is noteworthy.
Yet, our purpose is to note.
So I shall recall the woman, 9-months pregnant, who shared stories of she and her husband’s geological discoveries including a 500+ karat topaz that they won a prospecting award for while I learned about kyanite and druze that looked like eyeshadow palette. I shall recall her earnest eyes as she looked at me and complimented me on the necklace I half-remembered to dress up my outfit with – a glass ball filled with dandelion fluff with wishes. She looked as if she was hoping to befriend me or if she felt that we were already friends and all I had to do was agree. She is naming her daughter something that screams hippie, that makes me think of a book I read as a child about a woman who was the Johnny Appleseed of flowers and planted them everywhere. This woman and her friend, whom I momentarily wonder if she is also pregnant and if we’re offending her by not asking her, too, about her due date and the baby’s gender, decide on a necklace. I decide she is probably not pregnant, but do not ask to confirm. I wonder if this is a wonder they have about me. I am grateful for silence, a silent friendship that already knows what it needs. They split the cost of the friend’s choice, a peach druze that glitters on her freckled peach chest. They leave so happy, so tickled and my co-worker, also a lover of geologic forces and prospectors, departs as with a huge smile on her face as she’s been free to share her passion with someone who meets it at its level.
Just sitting in the wake of this is very strong for an empath.
Then, the flurry of texts from the sister who is trying to arrange reality for the rest of us. Who thinks my mother needs someone within 10 feet of her at all times. Come over after work, come over at 7:30 and watch a wedding dress show, she implores. I say I don’t know and it is guilt and the sunset’s beauty and my own easily triggered anxieties that make me come back after already being there this morning. A morning when she wanted to find her rosary and we found it, the Irish one, and a picture of her mom. I said as soon as I saw the picture I could hear my grandma saying “Little Orphan Annie.” She said, she heard her saying “Be brave.”
I was proud of myself for telling my mom that I couldn’t be there as much as my sister wanted me to, but that I was going to be there as much as I could. She said she didn’t want to be stared at. She said she prefered us flowing in and out. She said she was going to sleep a little better tonight.
Then I said I’d make her a playlist and she said she’d listen to it. So this is what is happening now.