conspicuous chaos

What will the body do in a day I wonder as I string verbs along a line: dig, plant, sew, sow, water, lift, scrape, brush, stir, wrestle, step ball twist, strum, click your tongue against your teeth, push a wheelchair, transfer wet clothes to the dryer. Water, dig, nurture, harvest, puncture, feed, defend, protect, nurture. Keeping emotions down to a socially acceptable level, which is a job all on its own.

What a privilege it is/millstone to have a body female, feminine and aging, like the Tim Horton's add says "Our buns are now bigger, better, softer..." (that would be me). I look at the photos of my great grandmother, a mountain of flesh in cat's eye glasses beside her husband. Two mountains watching the sun go down through the living room window. No tv. No conversation. Just silence. Waiting for the sun to set.

Conspicuous chaos is my privilege, my potentially fatal flaw. My infrastructure is fragile, but my body memory leads me to safety. My father loves to work. What verbs did he string in his black and blue checked flannel shirt? He drove, fixed, pumped gas, lifted wooden cartons of full bottles of Coke (dropped one once on his knee), drank coffee with customers, painted, stocked shelves, gave people deals, gave way food for free. He has/had hobbies too, reading, skeet shooting, hunting, fishing, collecting this and that. He worked on a farm for a while: tilling the soil, driving tractor--that's how we say it out there--driving tractor, feeding the (fucking) llamas, burying their Great Danes in giant graves when they died in pain from bones too big for dogs. He laughed in this shirt, spit out swearwords like knot head, turkey, turd. What a turd. The heart attack took away his anger, left fear, bewilderment. I miss his anger.

My son, I can only pray that I am there for people who find themselves in a dark place so that I can lead them to the way out. I hope I can lead you way from the tinder-dry field, from the edge of the river that runs too cold and fast. I know your fear of heights comes from the deep desire to fly above the pain. Let me be there to remind you that we are humans, not barn swallows.

Leading, teaching, holding, calming, supporting, loving.

Sometimes a body does not want to move. Like the deeply autistic boy in the class. He lay face down, quite still and heavy. His caregiver leaves him there to do what his body wants to do. Spends most of the day trying to convince the boy to engage his body in social ways. It is exhausting to watch and I admire the caregivers so much for their gentle perseverance. These are the people who will get cut in the budget shortfall. Too many verbs, not enough money.