IT IS RIGHT THAT TEARS FALL

I wonder where one gets grieving lessons, other than by experiencing it repeatedly. I will say this much, it is most difficult for a novice who isn't threatened by imminent war down the street, or waiting to be deported. 

I think not only of myself, but of those friends whose parents are close to the end. 

I can see the loss of Ariel is increasing my stress and sadness so that my cold is re-asserting itself. I know some of this is allergy, but I have had enough stress colds in my life to know the specific feeling very well. Nonetheless, I will go to yoga today as I haven't been since Thursday. And perhaps some Claritin might alleviate my symptoms. And I can get in a little lie-down before I go.

For some reason, Joan Baez's Diamonds and Rust comes to me. Maybe it's the "Well, I'll be damned/Here comes your ghost again..." 

Grief is like the ocean as it comes in waves. Does surfing, therefore, make the grieving easier to manage?

Now it's Thursday. I am just about to head out to my yoga class. I keep wondering why I don't feel well, besides the lingering cold/allergy. Then I remember the maple bar doughnut. Janet and I were hurrying out of the house to get to her macular degeneration surgery when she decided she wanted to eat. If she makes toast, she has to butter it carefully, eat it slowly, then brush her teeth, and she will undoubtedly need to use the toilet again. However, tempting her with a maple bar will get her right into the car. If only I could resist. 

Ariel did reappear, but she doesn't seem to be eating. Poor kitty. I will call her vet tomorrow to get her take on it.

Oona did not come in last night. She showed up this morning after breakfast. I found her sleeping in the garden when I watered. She looks as if she were in a fight, a bit. Plus, it is full-on flea season and 'though we have been assiduous in their flea meds, those fucker fleas are outside. I think that's what's biting me in when I am out in the yard.

Weeks later.

I talk to you all the time, just know this. Especially as I am relatively isolated, the commentary to all of you, particularly those who respond, goes on nonstop, Impressions, sentences, observations collect. Themes to discuss with you. 

Then comes some reality creeping around. Once again, I am derailed. Taking care of Janet, the cats, going swimming and to yoga take the forefront. Some new, small tragedy needs immediate attention. Or I am just felled by local, national, cosmic events into a drooling mass of binge watching.

This week, I stepped off the wagon. I haven't fallen, to be sure. Plus, after six months of minimal alcohol intake, a beer can trash me. What will all the stress, I am surprised I haven't sought more solace in food and drink.

THE TRAVELING ONION

It is believed that the onion originally came from India. In Egypt, it was an object of worship—why I haven't been able to find out. From Egypt, the onion entered Greece and on to Italy, thence into all of Europe, thence into all of Europe.

— Emma Bailey and Editors of Prevention, Better Living Cookbook, 1974

When I think how far the onion has traveled
just to enter into my stew today, I could kneel and praise
all small forgotten miracles,
crackly paper peeling on the drainboard,
pearly layers in smooth agreement,
the way knife enters onion, straight
and onion falls apart on the chopping block,
a history revealed.

And I would never scold an onion
for causing tears.
It is right that tears fall
for something small and forgotten.
How at a meal, we sit to eat,
commenting on the texture of meat or herbal aroma
but never on the translucence of onion,
now limp, now divided,
or its traditionally honorable career:
For the sake of others,
disappear.

— Naomi Shihab Nye, Yellow Glove, Portland, Oregon, Brietenbush Books, 1986