A Sunday in October

The previous post leaves a bad taste. I want to override it. So looking into unpublished drafts I found this, written just over a year ago. It’s something worth remembering.

I keep telling myself I’m not going to argue.  I’m not going to get defensive.  And yet there I go defending and arguing time and again.  I argue.  I defend.

Joy and I and Ezzy had a fine time on Sunday.  First, Ezzy took me to church with her friend, Mickie.  I called Joy when we went inside to let her know where we were.  I called again when we headed out to eat.  I kept looking back at the door during the meal even though I knew Joy didn’t know where we were so couldn’t possibly be meeting us.  Ezzy said, “Mom, she doesn’t know where we are.”  So I know she saw what I was doing.

Joy called to find out where we were and caught up with us as we were leaving.  She met Mickie briefly.  And we set out to see what we could see.  We casually walked over to Joy’s new place which has gorgeous “bones”.  Then to the library because we all three love libraries.  LOVE libraries.  I tracked down a favorite quote which I read aloud.

Ezzy and I have read to each other all her life.  We like the sound of our own voices.

Then we proceeded to Ezzy’s much less glam home, gently, gingerly trying out the everyday simple activities of daily living together.  Just this is where I live.  This is how I live.  How is this for you?  Simple.  Just hung out for a couple hours and then back to our regularly scheduled lives.  We said goodbye at the BART station.

Ezzy and I went to pour wine at a fundraiser til 10pm.  Back at her place she read poems of Octavio Paz in Spanish to me.  In the morning I went to dance class with Ezzy and took the train back home.

Walked around gingerly for a couple days thinking that went ok.  We’re doing ok.  Then last night I tripped up.  I’m not sure how it happens.  Joy and I were on the phone, talking, laughing… and then things slid down down.  I went back to fretting, feeling disconcerted, as though there was something I should do and I didn’t know what it was.

Figuring out these new pathways, building relationships among familial strangers, I feel so awkward.  Joy and Ezzy have things in common as daughters of me.  I have things I’ve shared with Joy and different things I’ve shared with Ezzy.  I’ve known Ezzy five more years than I’ve known Joy.  I raised Ezzy.  Now we’re learning to share things together.  They’re getting to know each other under the tension of me trying to insure that everything is OK.  As if I could.  As if there was a question whether everything is ok or not.  Everything IS.  We are OK.