Messages Colliding like Stars

“And I think there are people you’ll always be willing to go back to,
for you were made by the same colliding clusters of stars.
There are parts of you that are parts of them as well,
and that’s what keeps pulling you back in―like gravity.”
~ Unknown

This has been a weird week. Yesterday I mused I couldn’t believe another day swum by. That I’d be up late pulling together numbers for taxes, making plans for next steps in the New World of Heloise Jones, which is really getting exciting. Not to mention, magical in so many ways. Nature reminding me how I simply am loving life right now. I’d pulled the car out of the garage in snow flurries earlier. Before I was a mile down the road the sun was out, lit up the trees. In the distance the mountains seemed to step forward, in relief. Magical.

But it’s not just days melting away that I notice, but how less I know needs doing is getting done. My feeling I’m not peddling fast enough. And that’s a big shift for me. Because not long ago, that sentence would read ‘me feeling not enough.’

That awareness gives me breath in my life. And as if that space mattered, I started seeing themes each day in stunningly obvious ways. Did I miss this is the past?!

Last Friday on the heels of my blog about saying Yes, I found this:and  a wonderful piece with the caption “Today would have been Miss Norma’s 92nd birthday, and we know one thing for sure: this year we will say “YES!” to many things. <emphasis mine> We will plant a tree, eat key lime pie, smile at strangers and embrace joy and kindness at every turn. We hope you will celebrate with us!”

Yes, I will, I thought. What can I put on my list of Yes?

A few days later, I opened Facebook to three things about stories: an article “How Stories Configure Human Nature,” a magnificent video by Kyle Cease about the stories we tell ourselves,

and this:

YesYesYes, I thought. And all in a short scroll!

But it was today I got the big theme – People. How time and distance don’t transcend connection. A postcard arrived from the most sparkly little boy in the whole world. He sends two a month. First thing I notice is it’s longer than the others. And then I see why. Besides telling me the latest fun thing he did, asking if I’d have fun doing it, too, he added this:

“I got all your cards. I really miss you! Do you miss me?”

My heart cracked open. He used an exclamation point.

I thought how I’d just sent him a cheery light-hearted looking card with an empty red chair drawn on a yellow background with polka dots, inside the words “Missing you.” How I wrote that card as his question was flying to me. Yes, little boy, I miss you a lot, too. Often.

Another morning I sent a message to Andrea, a friend I’ve known for 20 yrs. who I haven’t seen since returning to Santa Fe two months ago. We must get together, I said. YES, agreed, she wrote back. That afternoon as I put on my shoes to go out, the phone rang. It was Mary, a friend I hadn’t spoken to in 30 yrs. Our history is complicated, and includes both hurtful loss and soft, kind feelings. We talked for over an hour. She’ll probably visit this summer. Soon after I finally arrived at the market, Andrea taps me on the shoulder. I would’ve missed her had Mary not called. I would’ve missed Mary if I’d been focusing on predetermined plans and not answered that unknown number.

Peg is a friend who’s now in her mid-90s. We met at a choral concert in Asheville maybe 12 yrs. ago. She walked with assistance down the aisle to the first row where I sat, & I made room for her. The performance was wonderful. The local symphony in accompaniment stellar. I kept beat with my hand on my thigh, swayed with the music at times. At intermission she asked if I was a musician. No, I just feel it, I replied.

I learned she once taught violin in Chicago, writes poetry, that all her children are musical. . .and that our birthdays are 5 days apart. Later I learned she’s extremely well-read and a big thinker, that she loves decorating a table & her cat. (really loves them) When she needed hip surgery, I referred her to a doc who does the least invasive procedure. She was the toast of the hospital, sharing her poetry and cheering folks up. When I got a Pushcart Prize nomination for my poem, The Altar of Birds, she read it to friends, had discussions about it. She said it reminded her of Mary Oliver.

From the day we met, we shared a birthday lunch each March. Paid for our own and laughed we really took the other out. When I moved to Florida, we switched to birthday calls (she’s good at this) and had one last birthday lunch on a trip up I made. I realized a week ago I didn’t get a call this March. I put off calling. Yesterday the phone message said number disconnected. I called the place her daughter-in-law used to work, left a message. Peg promised she’d leave a note for them to contact me if anything happened to her. I know how those things go, tho.

This is Peg the last time I saw her. At our fav place for lunch, reading a poem she wrote.

Next week my sister comes to Albuquerque for regional gymnastics trials her granddaughter will compete in. Her granddaughter’s 9 and Olympics bound. I’ve seen my sister briefly once in 24 years.  When we met in the airport on a long lay-over I had. We are so different. It will be good to see her.

I haven’t put together why these three themes, yet. I think it’s perhaps lessons for what’s next in my life.

The quote above is by an unknown author. As a writer, I want to know who wrote it. Assignation one of the things lost online that irks me. I googled. Saw it quoted on Pinterest, Skinny Buddha, Quotes ‘n Notes. I found one assignation to “Alexis H., Theory of space and time” but could not find who Alexis H. is. sigh  I love it, tho. We are stars. From the same colliding clusters. If you’ve read my blog, you know how true I believe this is.

Another small journey. Getting to Wise.
A Writer’s Life.

Sparkly boy & the temp tattoo I wore just for him.

Tell me about the people in your life, how years & distance don’t matter.

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