The Cold Sore

I have a cold sore on my face whose presence is invading my life.

I looked it up, it’s a form of herpes. What the hell! Who is more reserved than me, I mean sexually, a nun maybe? I didn’t kiss a loose man or woman, unless you count my husband but he’s only loose with me. I must have had some pleasure that I should feel guilty about? I am Catholic after all.

Buddhists say that if you are tolerant in one life then you will have a beautiful face in the next lifetime. I was sure of two things about myself; that I was tolerant and that I was beautiful. Maybe it’s time for me to be sure of something else.

My children don’t even notice it of course. They might notice if my nose was missing but a cold sore doesn’t faze them. Aoife is the exception. At the age of 2 years and 4 months, she spends a lot of time in close proximity to my face and hence my cold sore. She spent about 10 minutes solid staring at it. (She had nothing else to do; I was trying to get her to sleep.) I could see the budding scientist in her. Her face said “how did it get there? Will it go away if I stare long enough? I would like to touch it but it might pop off her and onto me, yuck!” Detached curiosity in her eyes, caution in her body language, her concentration never failed.

Women love to chat. Some of us have a hard time pulling ourselves away from each other. As soon as we are in close proximity, our mouths go on automatic pilot. We jump endlessly from one subject to another. Being with one such friend is a joy for me. It is exciting, stimulating, empowering and inspiring. So it is, even with a cold sore. But with a cold sore there is a difference, my friend’s eyes are also on automatic pilot. They keep jumping from my eyes to my cold sore. My friend inwardly admonishes herself and drags her eyes back to mine. She must know what it feels like to be a man who just can’t help staring into a woman’s cleavage. So I feel like I am no longer an intelligent woman, I am a viral affliction!

The most honest reaction of all to the dreaded growth beneath my lip was a very fleeting one. I was rushing by an acquaintance, Kevin, saying hello in passing. Kevin is a tall, fun loving, exuberant redheaded man who has great affection for me. He greeted me in his usual loud and cheerful manner “Heeeeeyyyy Maaaary” and then he saw it. His face dropped. He no longer saw his beloved Mary. He had a whole new relationship happening with the blemish. “What the heck? What are you doing there?” said the frown on his face. I am left to wonder how he would do with cleavage!

The dear man who shares my bed every night cannot be kissed. At every greeting he is offered my cheek. He can still hug me but the temporary lack of lips in our exchanges is sorely missed. Upon each return to the homestead, he gets an update on the thing that sits squarely in the way of our intimacy. It is like a child who refuses to go to bed.

It is drying up now. It doesn’t even look dangerous anymore. In a few days it won’t even be a memory. I will be perplexed thinking that that something’s missing. I have learned so much from it. But it cannot stay. Unless...it is immortalised here!

Today

Today I drove around splashing through puddles with my car and laughed with three kids a laugh that was long overdue.

I gathered wild flowers and spoke to people whose names I do not know.

I got a bike.

I said sorry.

I was entitled the best Mom ever.

I ended a contract that was no longer valid.

I played ball.

I rode a scooter.

I was serenaded by my sister.

I saw baby geese.

I laughed with friends.

And I think I grew wings because tonight I soared.

A Brave Soul

You come to me with gentle embrace

You come with beaming smile on your face

I see you laugh, I see your fun

You want to enjoy everything under the sun

You are intriguing, you are brand new

Yet for your whole life, I have known you

You can focus, you are so intent

On the games and the situations that you invent

Now you’re kind, you show such care

For those weaker than you or those who don’t dare

You are courageous, you are strong

You have braved ones who have done you wrong

You are my son and you are just eight

And yes my sweet love, I think you’re great!

Women shouldn’t do art

What an indulgence to spend time on something that is useless unless you’re Picasso or a Dickens! Women couldn’t possibly inspire anyone with what they might produce. What have they got to say that is of any value? Their time would be better spent caring for their children and husbands, organising their worlds – helping them acquire new skills, saving and earning money for the family. How satisfying for them to see the products of their efforts; happy, healthy, financially secure people living in an agreeable environment!

How selfish of these women who allow themselves to be tempted by art! How sick some women become because they cannot find fulfillment in their families! If they have taken care of their own, there is a whole world of needy people they can care for. Africa, India, Asia, South America, even North America is full of people needing the loving hand of a woman. What a happy world we would live in if women would only do what they are supposed to do.

Women should leave the work force and nurture one and all. This would leave jobs for the men. It would solve the economic crisis. Sure, the income of each family would be reduced but this would be compensated by the work of the woman. She could do all the cooking, cleaning, child care, decoration, odd jobs, gardening, organising crafts and activities with other Moms. Women could organise themselves and save money by pooling resources. They could share their know-how with each other and pass it on through the generations.

Women’s absence from the workforce would reduce the chances of infidelity in the marriage. Men and women’s separation during the day would create a healthy tension which could be relieved in the marital bed as it should be.

Men too would be happier. They would have more free time to relax and de-stress because the women would take care of all the household chores. They could have the time to play chess, golf and smoke cigars with their neighbours.

So ladies, repress those feelings, those inklings that still might be present in your psyches. And rejoice if you don’t feel them anymore. This must be the devil drawing us all away from order, the natural law of all things. It must be resisted at all costs. It would be better to die than to abandon our families to chaos. Without our care and constant control this will surely be their demise. How much more noble it is to give yourself for others! The choice is obvious; it is a choice for life.

A Morning of Richness

I awoke dreaming of what I couldn’t have, not today anyway

But got a morning full of richness

Coffee from an exotic place brought warmth to my belly

Children going to school without me, I stayed in my nightie until 10.30

A run in the rain with a happy dog and a laughing girl

A man shouting after me “I love the rain” with a Polish accent

Made me smile

A call from a very beautiful woman

I love my friend

I’m not alone

Dancing to Latin music in the kitchen

The heat on in my hundred year old house

A lunch with salmon and peppers of red, yellow and orange

And it’s not even 2 o’clock yet!

A lover of tea

The sound of the click the kettle makes when it is boiled awoke Mary from her reverie. Although the usual chaos of morning was playing out around her, she was lost in her inner world.

“Mom, could you make me my special breakfast?” her son called from the living room.

“Mom, I can’t get the shower to the right temperature!” her daughter complained from the top of the stairs.

She just smiled at the baby in the high chair who had adorned herself with wet cereal that had found its way into her hair, ears and nose.

“Tea” she thought. “I’ll be there in a minute both of you” she called back to her two older offspring.

The dog had been out and was presently sniffing around for food. The cat was on the table trying to catch her by the arm.

“Tea first” she said stroking the feline all the way down to the tip of his tail.

The steaming water was poured into the teapot and splashed around to heat it up, then emptied and two tea bags were deposited before the pot was filled to the brim and left to brew in a very flowery tea cosy.

“I hate that ugly thing but it works”, she said to the baby who was throwing food on the floor while clicking her tongue to summon her best friend.

“Dog!” she exclaimed.

With the satisfaction of having accomplished the task of preparing her morning life line, she poured food and water into the animals’ bowls, ran to set the temperature for her daughter, prepared yogurt with fruits and cereal for her son and then sat down with her tea, her refuge.

The hot liquid entered her empty thirsty body. The warmth spread through her comforting her physically and emotionally. She sighed audibly with pleasure.

“Haaah.” The baby imitated her mother’s vocalisation. “Tup-a-tea. Tup-a-tea” she chirped.

“I can’t find my agenda” her son declared.

“Can I help with the lunches, Mom?” her daughter proposed.

“Oh shit, I forgot the lunches, what time is it?” The clock gave her another 30 minutes.

“It’s okay, just one more cup of tea and then we’ll do it.”

“Your agenda is on the piano, my love” she informed her son ruffling his hair.

She huddled over her tea cup and sought in it a change that could lift her mood, energise her day.

She saw herself on the balcony of a fancy French hotel in a white bathrobe with the name of the hotel embroidered on it in gold, sipping good coffee and eating fresh croissants. The day ahead of her consisted of meetings with the press for the promotion of her latest bestseller, “The Tea Drinker’s Revenge”. How good it would feel to soak in all that admiration!

She could go back to Crete and restore her soul. A vision of herself on a pier, looking out at the green and blue sea with an electric wind tossing her hair and clothes, came to her. Then she could ride a moped around the island to visit the places of the Gods. How empowering that would be!

Next, she thought about her lifelong dream to visit Spain that she had never gotten around to. She could hear the music playing, the people speaking that passionate language as she danced around in a cobblestoned square in Barcelona, romance filling the air.

The sound of her children’s chatter and laughter brought her back to reality and she smiled lovingly. It was her favourite sound in the world. Suddenly, she wanted to kiss each of them on the head and hold them, feeling the mass of their warm soft hair in her face, taking in their scents.

She gulped down her last sip, knocked the teacup on the table and declared, “today, my pumpkins, Mommy is going to buy herself a new tea cosy!”