Was the compliment my friend Merle gave me last night. We’d had dinner at Belli Osteria then she, Art & I went to see Kathleen Turner in Red Hot Patriot at Berkeley Rep.The politically liberal and brilliant Kathleen Turner fits the Molly Ivins role – and I don’t mean to sound sexist here – like Cinderella’s shoe. At one point, I found myself conflating the Molly Ivins character who spoke to chapters of the ACLU in Texas with the real-life Kathleen Turner I met once in Portland after my staff and I invited her to speak to major donors at our Planned Parenthood affiliate. Red Hot Patriot did what I hoped it would: put me back into my former normal life.
Party People was the last show David saw at Berkeley Rep. He loved it. If I visualize last night’s empty seat beside me, where David always sat, I tear up just a little. I say this often: grieving is not linear. I experience any stage or stages of grief all at the same time. I learned this at Stew’s death, my guess is I’ll have similar melding with David. In keeping with the season I want to change my metaphor. I don’t want to ride that roller coaster of emotion or wallow in it like a ship atop the waves; instead I’ll let my feelings travel up and down as if I’d stepped onto that ancient escalator with its slatted wooden steps in Macy’s on 34th Street. Today I hope I’m moving upward – and who knows – even forward.
Writing makes me feel better. This turns out to be a medical miracle based in science, at least according to an article my friend Connie e-mailed,
But blogging also has its downside. “I read your blog so I know how you are. Once I know, maybe then I don’t call,” Merle said last night. That fewer calls from friends could be an outcome of my writing had not occurred to me. My new normal turns out to have a bunch of empty spaces in its day, especially later in the afternoon. Feel free to call. Compliments are always welcome, but chatting too is good – except between the hours of 3 and 5 when I nap or walk or talk with Jessica.