I was supposed to be at dock yoga this morning.
But Cole is home today. He sits across the room with sad, blood-red puppy dog eyes instead of in the woods with his sister and his friends at Marimba Camp. For a fourth day, he woke up to slime in the corners of his eyes, goopy eyelashes and crusty eyelids glued shut. Consequently, both his and my plans for this day, for this week have been derailed.
Last week, I shared the dock with a travel writer for Sunset Magazine. She was charming, grateful and kind -- in town doing a story about the Island.
"I hear you are a big-time, fancy writer," our instructor spoke up after class. "You know all kinds of people say they are writers, but I heard you are a REAL writer. You've even sold stuff to the New York Times?" She had.
And this week, I've been in the company of another real writer, a great writer (the New York Times even says so) -- David Sedaris. In his book I'm reading, he writes, "States vote to take away my marriage rights, and even though I don't want to get married, it tends to hurt my feelings. I guess what bugs me is that it was put to a vote in the first place. If you don't want to marry a homosexual, then don't. But what gives you the right to weigh in on your neighbor's options? It's like voting on whether or not redheads should be allowed to celebrate Christmas."
Well, should they?
A friend of mine called me a loser recently. He was having an impromptu gathering at his house -- fresh crab, tons of people, community, conversation... I opted out to eat dinner at home, alone. I read and wrote and went to bed early. "It was so cool," Paul and the kids exclaimed the next morning. Oh, what a feast you missed out on, they scolded. And I've been scolded before.
We were created to be in community, I've been told across coffee tables, from pulpits and even in bed. And in spite of my preference for the couple over the crowd, I've been reprimanded more times than I can count because of the parties and potlucks I've skipped.
I skipped yoga this morning, stayed home with my kid and went for a walk instead.
"Jesus, name above all names..." a siren sang in my ears as I walked in the crisp, cool of this morning. I felt moved, and I cried. How can one name level me to tears, I contemplated as I walked an old familiar road and listened to that song.
I thought of a satirical essay I read in Mr. Sedaris' book yesterday. It made me laugh and made me sad and made fun of that same name. A name that has changed my life, made me weep and taught me love, kindness, compassion and sacrifice. A name that has also been used for judgment, arrogance, ignorance, and hatred. So misused and misunderstood.
I think my feelings hurt, but gratefully, my eyes don't.