I have a few thoughts. On a cloudy day where I pass the dog lying upside down with all feet in the air on the rug. Furry stomach in plain contented view.
I was on my way to the laundry with my mom's vest that had pizza sauce on it and was throwing it in the washer thinking wow with dementia you don't put anything in your pockets anymore. I don't have to check pockets. You're not gathering anything anymore. Maybe you have to keep things light, lighter the better for floating, eventual floating off. Floating might be nice actually.
I wanted to write about Ms Choi, my teacher I've been with for 8 months. We're about to end, three more days. On zoom, so we have never met and will probably never actually meet. I was thinking I wonder if we would ever be friends. Like if I met her for a walk in a cemetery or something I'm just kidding, where do you walk with a 58 year old Korean kindergarten teacher who likes camping? I'm sure if we met we would just awkwardly stare at each other and then like clean out all the trashcans in the classroom or something. We only have been randomly paired together over the internet to sort out the immense problem of Children (tiny ones) Learning During Global Pandemic. At home. Sometimes we look into their little rectangle of life on our screens and the kid is sitting next to a pile of mannequins. Sometimes they're jumping on the couch. Mostly they are looking at us silently like why is this happening why is this kindergarten where are the blocks where is the petting the bunny in the circle of kids where is the Halloween parade
Because of my very cool teacher we just ignored all that because as she said, stoically cheerful, "OH WELL! What can we do?!" So we taught what we could, laughed "when we want to cry" she says, and tried not to hold on to every mistake. Ms Choi said MAKE ALOT OF MISTAKES. WHY NOT.
I learned this year that we can't give the answers, like at ALL to kids who are sitting there staring at us. When they don't know an answer. That sitting in that uncomfortable place of not knowing and feeling stupid and mad, that is the place where enlightenment happens. It's like the spring roll to an enlightenment chinese dinner. It's the weirdest weirdest thing that I always avoid and maybe that's why my enlightenment happens when I'm putting a vest into the washer. I can't be TRYING to find the answer. It usually just comes to you in empty pockets.
I got in the hot tub even though it said 109 and that's the point where your legs turn into boiled ham. I got in and then got out and steamed and sat in a cold chair in a towel and lately I feel my jaw always clenched like I'm trying to fend off an impending army with my face, and after a minute of realizing I had nothing to hold onto, I could actually NOT hold on to, so I let go of my face and leaned back and looked at the white cloudy sky and then a little hummingbird flitted in, left, flitted back, flitted so close that it was saying hey.
You're doing it, right now. That's it. It's enough.
Ricky Gervais in his show about death was saying that maybe it's enough to be here and take care of each other while we're here and then die.
In that case, hummingbird. Ms. Choi. Dog upside down, paws up. All the people that wash up on my shores and fade back into the pile of mannequins.
It's been good.
