Patiently waiting: photos of scribbled upon windows, the washable markers a gift to Bear from Santa. All along, I thought the pictures might match a post about acceptance and living in the moment- I abhor dirty windows-but the post would have been cliche and boring (even if true). The pictures were tabled until the proper time and this week the timing was speedily reached.
I figured it out: the view was never about me, rather windows into the lives of friends and family. This weekend our phone rang off the hook, e-mails fired in, the front door knocked upon; their stories were always sad, mostly urgent.
The best Champ and I could do was listen, listen as bad news kept rolling in with all manner of despair attached to it. It tumbled right on over those protective, colorfully scrawled window panes and I wryly smiled as Eminem's "guess that's why they call it window pain" scrolled through my thoughts. There is a sense of desperation in hearing of others' pain and feeling quite useless to help. A juxtaposition too, at least for me, as my own biodome is just peachy keen these days.
I tried hacking away at all that dismal sadness. Prayer of course helped. Rumi came in when called upon -as comforting as ever- this time with "The Guest House". Comfort food made it's presence known as well: I hovered by the stove and cooked anything and everything comforting I could think of. This weekend's guests needed that and I needed to feel like I was doing something tangibly helpful. Do you ever feel the same?
Further into my picture files I found a recent series of Ace. He's eating (how comforting!) and the paperwhites have bloomed.