Monday, 29 June 2009

Elvis on the radio.

Maybe I didn't hold you
All those lonely, lonely times
And I guess I never told you
I'm so happy that you're mine
Last night was one of those curtains-open, lights blazing, dirty dishes all over the kitchen kind of nights. I made dinner for ten and the kids were in bed early, tired from all the craziness, worn out from fresh air. We sat and talked around the living room until late into the night, Elvis Presley crooning from the radio, Johnny Cash filling in on set breaks. It was cool and breezy and I left all the tiny white lights on inside and out when I went to sleep because I like them best when pitch black night comes and the universe parries down into just the black, the lights and the near-constant ringing of the big wind chimes I can hear through my bedroom window.

In my head I turned out the lights with the giant movie shut-down click-ratchets. One by one by one. There are six strings of twenty-four and each one takes 4 seconds to turn off. It takes turning them off in my brain seven rounds before I can't remember what I'm counting and I fall asleep.

That's not so bad. It used to take longer.

I have Ben's ring again. Keeps my hands busy with the heavy smoothness of it. Brings him back to me in my head. I was showing it to Jacob this morning. I held it out from my perch on the door ledge so he could remember it, held it up in one tiny quavering hand and he told me it was nice. He told me I should put it on a cord and wear it as a necklace since it's far too large for my fingers and I might lose it. That was a good idea, I never would have thought of that.