Honey

100_1986I stumbled out the door clutching a piece of toast slathered with almond butter and honey. The honey dripped all the way to the bus stop; a drop landed on my flipflop near my left big toe. A sticky sensation ensued with each step.  Got off at 14th and State and walked up the hill past sprinklers that filled the air with vapors blinding white in the morning sun.  Very quiet knit today with my sprint knitting needles.  I listened to birds trilling in the nearby trees.  The walking ladies passed several times…they are taking a break from the uphill route probably due to the temperatures soaring into the high 80’s.  I was thinking about how vulnerability begets vulnerability.  Yesterday, my dad invited me over to talk about what I shared last week on the blog about the losses sustained in my teen years.  I was really nervous, not knowing what he would say, but we had an incredibly sweet encounter.  He shared openly and honestly, even tearing up a little, his response to what I had written.  I don’t recall this happening before.

Towards the end of my knit, G. and P. appeared…this time P. was wearing a white shirt instead of black.  “Here’s a lavender pick-me-up,” G. said handing me a new sprig.  They had been debating what to do with their summer.  G. wants to stay home in the “bubble” and do yoga: “I know it sounds hippie dippie but I think doing yoga every day helps me on every level…I had an Indian teacher last summer and she let me go at my own pace…It wasn’t a competitive yoga class…I just want to do yoga, read junk novels, make a new body of work, and find a new reading for my Fall class…Or maybe just read junk novels.”  Meanwhile they’ve been offered an all-expenses-paid trip to South Korea to attend their art opening and a summer artist residency in Santa Fe.  “Summer is limited,” G. said.  “Yeah, it creates this sense of pressure,” I replied.  “Last summer we were gone the entire time…we arrived back in town at 4 am, I taught my first class at 10 am.  I was a zombie. I mean, I just read from my syllabus like it was a script.  I felt really bad for my students.

“What are you doing this summer?  I suppose you are finishing this knitting project?”

“Yeah, it’s my tether…”

“It’s your leash!”

They thanked me for my free mini therapy session and continued up the hill.  “You’re like a bartender!” G. called back over his shoulder.

I like this idea of the knitting as my leash.  Last week, I met a cinnamon dog named Peppa.  She was carrying her own leash bundled up in her muzzle.  The owner walked behind her hands free.  It felt like confident, mutual trust.

*No knit yesterday.

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