Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Walking with Sophie


The rest of them -- The Husband, the Man Child and the Big O left the house to go to the baseball party at Shakey's Pizza, that bastion of arcade thrills and pizza that isn't really pizza and I waved to them at the door, sulky because I was staying home with Sophie, the noise and mayhem of Shakey's not good for her, sulky because I wanted there to be an instance of family, a time when we could all go out as a family, have fun, no reservations, just pick up and go. Sophie was sticky with seizures that afternoon and I couldn't stand staying home so I put her in her wheelchair and left the house, turning left and into the urban part of the neighborhood, the cafes and coffee shops, struggling through doorways and sulky at the sun in my face. Beautiful day. The iced tea, the cheese cubes, the apple slices and roasted almonds that we shared, the relinquished face-up to the sun and I felt better, smoothed-out, walking home. I crossed Wilshire Blvd, pushing the wheelchair. A Latino passed me, dirty grocery bags clutched in both fists, his face averted. I maneuvered around a group of Korean teenagers flipping their skateboards, their faces averted, a white bum rooting through the trash looked up once and averted his gaze as well. I have never thought of disability as an equalizer in eye aversion, but it appeared to be so on Sunday afternoon. I pushed away from the city street and onto a residential one, the 1920s apartment buildings stark against the blue sky, palm trees waving, morning glory wrapped up and around a telephone pole, caught in the wheel of the chair, its viney, purple fingers clutching so hard that I had to bend down and yank it free.

13 comments:

  1. I enjoyed the walk with you and Sophie. I can almost picture where you live. It also brought back memories, too, of those days at various faux pizza places with the boys and their soccer teams. I must admit that I should have treasured them more after reading your comment about wishing to do things as a family. I hope that can happen for you more.

    My husband and I are heading out to San Francisco to spend a few days with our eldest son.

    Best,
    Bonnie

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  2. that morning glory knows true grace when it passes by. as for the humans, they don't even see the surface unless they take the time to look, and they seldom do. it is our great loss. love you lots, mama elizabeth. xo

    and this is beautiful writing.

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  3. some of your best writing...here, now....
    wrapped so tightly around my heart i had to raise my eyes to you and release my breath.

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  4. "... the 1920s apartment buildings stark against the blue sky, palm trees waving, morning glory wrapped up and around a telephone pole, caught in the wheel of the chair, its viney, purple fingers clutching so hard that I had to bend down and yank it free."

    When I read stuff like that it makes me want to write. Sort of like when you watch all those Olympic skaters throwing triple axels and you think, "Hey, I should go ice skating. That looks so fun. I wonder why I haven't ice skated more?" And then you go ice skating, and you remember why.

    When someone does something well, they make it look so easy.

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  5. Elizabeth....I feel for you not always being able to all go out as a family. Sacrificing for all the best of reasons. Your mothering, your vision of observation...say so much of the woman you are. Sophie is a very fortunate daughter so have all of you as her parents and siblings.

    We all have a story and we all should share a smile to everyone. No one should divert a smile...

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  6. My dear love. I am glad the morning glories bloomed in glory for you. They love you both so much they wanted to hold you to them.

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  7. i hate that for my family, too... the separation that illness causes, the lack of a "a time when we could all go out as a family, have fun, no reservations, just pick up and go." i love when you write like this, so matter-of-factly, about the awfulness mixed with the wonder of simple blessings, in a single day of moments. i'm glad you lifted your face to the sun... and for the glory of those morning glories. i can't imagine anyone turning away from your beautiful girl.

    i love what ms moon said to you, too...

    (and i love what you said to me about my poetry... you know it means the world to me when you like something i write... )

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  8. Whew! Gorgeous!

    And, just for the record, Shakey's Pizza is my idea of punishment, so if I'm ever in town and you want to accompany your men to the pizza place, I'll happily walk with Sophie ;-).

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  9. Disability as an equalizer in eye aversion. The morning glory...wow.

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  10. What you write often makes me think, "would I do that?" - meaning - would I be just like 99% of humanity and have eye aversion. I hope I wouldn't. I hope I would look into your eyes and Sophies and give you both a smile.

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