xylophone

One, two, three, four….xylophone. Of course. Five is off running this morning, her small feet snug in women’s Brooks Chariots, size six. I ought to know – I brought them as a gift. Five promises to be back Monday, assuming the creek don’t rise and there ain’t no meltdown.

For me, there’s a feeling of awe to be invited into another person’s life. To share in their intimacy. To ask, “Do you sleep in the same room?” To ask, “Do her parents like you?” So there’s intimacy and there’s grace, and there’s that last question – “Do her parents like you?” I could have been asked, and sometimes was asked, that very question throughout the decades of my life. Of course. Pretty much my accurate answer has been “No.”

It feels like a couple of possible paths there. Pay attention to consistent feedback and maybe, sort of try to do something about it. Find ways to change the answer, which probably would involve personal work – the old “inside job” thing. Or not. Perhaps a “Thanks for sharing”, followed by “Next”, better “Now what?” Lingering in the milieu of this and that, here and there, yes and no. As well as ever-growing gratitude.

(Malingering is not considered a mental illness. In the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, Fifth Edition (DSM-5), malingering receives a V code as one of the other conditions that may be a focus of clinical attention. Jan 4, 2022)

I’m warmer to the idea of lingering than malingering, which turns out to have some fake medical condition behavior.

And, enough silliness. Back to the grace of intimacy. Back to running around Lake Merritt in Oakland, by then the switch made to New Balance. Sitting, a while ago, on the orange zafu – more abundance. And this sweet gift of another day. Of life. Way larger than some V code.