Friday, November 2, 2012

Fall, this year


November brings fall to Los Angeles, fall, finally. The air is much cooler, the skies are gray in the morning, the grass wet, the crows caw and red leaves, however spare, fall on my car. We do have seasons, I mutter, querulous. No matter the gray peels away by noon, a blue sky like a tight sheet, tucked around us, the sun yellow like crayon light. November is the month of gratitude and everywhere I look I see it. I am grateful, I mutter, querulous. I'm grateful for my sons' strapping health, for The Husband's steady job, for the two contracts I've signed to work, for Sophie's purple, pillowed room, her otherwise happy life. There is tyranny to gratitude, the slog of it, pressure like gray over blue that will shine through anyway. Last night, I spent a few hours with my friend whose sister is dying of cancer. We drank martinis with extra olives and laughed about Louis CK and David Sedaris. My friend's husband brought us pieces of bread smothered in tomatoes and olive oil. We ate chocolate cake. My friend is strong and beautiful. Her children, aged eleven and fourteen face their inevitable loss with uncommon grace, their soft faces creased in gentle care. Her sister exudes grace and patience and is very, very tired. Sitting on the couch next to her, I felt as if the house was breathing in and out, expanding and contracting, with love. When I left, the night was crisp and the air fall-damp. Later, I slipped into my house, everyone sleeping, and fell asleep.

11 comments:

  1. We are stuck in one another's webs, then.

    This is gorgeous. I am so sad for your friend, her sister, their family all of them.

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  2. lovely; the tyranny of gratitude. beautiful writing, elizabeth.

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  3. I blame Oprah. For many things. But that gratefulness thing is one of them.

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  4. Reality. Thank you for sharing your reality with me, with us. Sending love to you.

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  5. Gratitude is tricky. You don't want to be ungrateful, but at the same time, it IS a bit of a forced imposition, isn't it? Your writing about your friend and her sister is very touching. When I lived in Florida, I used to get annoyed at people who said we didn't have seasons -- we do, I insisted, they're just more subtle. Which is true.

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  6. Sending love speeding down the freeway to you. If I lived nearby, I'd make you a chocolate martini.

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  7. When death is near, may each of us have a friend sitting on the couch next to us drinking martinis with extra olives.

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  8. Oh blessed, blessed sleep. And being grateful.

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  9. I agree that gratitude feels a bit forced sometimes. I love hearing about what other people are grateful for because it nearly always expands my notion of what I can be grateful for. I am breathing in and out for you and your friend in solidarity and love.

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