Beaming

This is one of those beautiful days I have mentioned before: So beautiful that it hurts to look at ... well, anything. (Borrowed and paraphrased from My So-Called Life. Rayanne Graf, if I am not mistaken, and I believe she is talking about her pal, Angela Chase. Of course, I have the DVD collection, so I could look it up. Yeah, if I were a different person.)

: )

I live next door to the office of my insurance agent. For about a year now (probably longer; we all know how I am about keeping track of such things), he has had a new receptionist, and she is very nice. Sometimes, when I get home from work, she is outside taking a cigarette break, and we exchange greetings.

“Your flowers are pretty, Diana!” she called out to me today.

“Thanks,” I replied, then shrugged. “I just water ’em!”

“I’ve been looking at them every day.”

For some reason, this made me feel unbelievably happy.

: )

A few months ago, over in The Orchard, Zayne asked us all to describe our bench there in that (somewhat) imaginary place.

Here is how I described mine, back on Jan. 6:

My bench in the Orchard:

I built me a treehouse/loft (in my imagination, I am one heckuva carpenter!). My treehouse faces southward — like Trudes’ place, so I can get as much sunshine as possible. In fact, the south side of my treehouse is completely open — ’cause, WTF, the weather is always excellent here (except on those days when we need a lil’ rain so we can go walking barefoot and splashing through the puddles, or times when we have a craving to watch the snow come down). The treehouse has a large front porch, just like the one on my next-door neighbors Mabel and Burl’s house when I was a kid. On it are a rocking chair, a swing and all kinds of pillows. And a small round table with a pitcher of slightly sweetened iced tea or lemonade or cider — if Deb happens to be visiting that day. (Michelle: I’ve got all your favorite beers on tap, inside!)

: )

Whilst sitting/lying on any of the porch “furniture,” we can watch the sun rise and set every day. Inside, there are photos everywhere (Scotty and Jeanne and Bill each have their own wall, but they share their space with the rest of us). We’ve tacked up some written work, too, or jotted our words right there on the walls (you have to write kinda small, though, ’cause the windows in this place are huge and take up much of the wall space). My acoustic guitar is nearby, just begging for someone who actually knows how to play it to come along ...

In the middle of the room, I have a giant telescope for viewing the moon and various planets and stars through the skylight at night.

Today, at the park, I found me a bench I can enjoy while I am waiting to get around to getting my Orchard bench built:



: )

I have a friend I’ve never met. I have written about her before, and I think about her a lot; in fact, she is the girl I have referred to as a friend, but in reality, we at times have been far more than friends ... and at other times, far less.

We have known each other for more than 5 years. Or, rather, we have gotten to know each other as well as you can possibly know someone via e-mails, occasional chats and sporadic phone calls.

Early on, I wanted too much. I’m not quite sure why, really; I just know that I did. And I made the mistakes that people make — and even a few original mistakes that I am quite convinced only I could make! — when they want everything they can possibly get from a person, which almost always results in nothing.

(All of This and Nothing ...)

And even when there is still a remnant of something, you won’t get what you think you need from this person because you have rendered them unable to give anything. You have forced them, really, to hold back everything.

But then, sometimes, you get lucky, and for whatever reason (in my case, I consider it a miracle, a change of heart, something), this girl and I have made it back to being ... friends, or something.

I kept thinking it was because she has changed. Because she was/is willing to see me in a different light, willing to look past these faults of mine, able to realize that there is some good in here, in me, somewhere.

Then, last night, I had a different way of seeing it: Perhaps I am the one who has changed.

Perhaps I am the one who stopped making it so difficult for her to want to know me.

Perhaps.

: )

Uncharacteristically, I am a little nervous about what the immediate future has in store.

My best friend/confidant/soulmate, the person who knows me better than anyone else does and actually gets me and, amazingly, loves me anyway (go figure!) is having a surgical procedure tomorrow. And it’s routine blah-blah-blah, and I have faith that it will all go well; still, it’s a little scary, just the same.